Mica

By MariaLisa deMora

Mica Scott was raised on a ranch in Northeast Texas. Life was hard, but not impossible...until she met her own personal nightmare one night at a rodeo. She escaped his abuse by putting things behind her, isolating herself by moving to Chicago for college and work.

Davis Mason is the hard-living president of the Rebel Wayfarers, a motorcycle club operating out of Chicago. With just one encounter, he becomes determined to keep Mica safe...whether she wants him to or not. He will use every asset in his control to manage Mica, while holding himself aloof from taking the one thing he really wants...her.

Daniel Rupert is a successful businessman. He owns a trucking company and a hockey team, for which he is the star forward. Meeting Mica and Mason when he helped foil an attempt on her life, he began working jointly with Mason to keep her safe. But unlike Mason, Daniel is not satisfied with a platonic relationship. He insinuates himself into Mica's life, and he only wants...everything.

Events escalate and Mica's very life hangs in the balance as old threats resurface and the men in her life scramble to keep her alive.

18+ due to explicit content.

*Please note this book is part of the Rebel Wayfarers MC book series, featuring characters from additional books in the series. If the books are read out of order, you’ll twig to spoilers for the other books, so going back to read the skipped titles won’t have the same angsty reveals. I strongly recommend you read them in order. Available now: Mica (book #1), Slate (book #2), Bear (book #3), Jase (book #4), Gunny (book #5), Mason (book #6), Hoss (book #7), Duck (book #8), Watcher (book #9), and Bones (book #10). Upcoming titles in the series include: Fury (book #11), and Cassie (book #12).

• Language: English
• Publisher: MariaLisa deMora
• Release date: Dec 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990447313

MariaLisa deMora

Raised in the south, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling Author MariaLisa deMora learned about the magic of books at an early age. Every summer, she would spend hours in the local library, devouring books of every genre. Self-described as a book-a-holic, she says "I've always loved to read, but then I discovered writing, and found I adored that, too. For reading...if nothing else is available, I've been known to read the back of the cereal box."

Book preview

1 - Beginning

Mica

Sitting on the window seat with her knees bent, heels tucked tight against her bottom, and arms wrapped around her legs, Michaela Scott stared out the window, but could not see anything. In her mind, green leaves arched over the side yard, and the sun dappled down from the impossibly blue sky onto a grassy area where chairs were pulled into a small circle. She barely glimpsed the very edge of the picnic blanket. Blink.

A flash of movement caught her attention. Barren limbs swayed, reaching up to scratch at the gray sky overhead, the snow-covered expanse radiating cold. Blink.

Memories again, these of a green-grassed lawn boasting laughter in the background, and lanterns stretched between the trees to illuminate a grill and the area around it. Silhouettes and shadows of friends gathered to share food and stories of their day wheeled like a flock of black birds. Blink.

She shivered, watching as the wind whipped the deepening snow into drifts with dips and valleys, carving around the trees to form a wind bow.

I didn’t know who else to call, Mason. I saw your car outside your house and…I just didn’t know what to do! Mica thought she recognized that voice, cracking high, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to place it. Blink.

In the summers of her youth, flowers bloomed near tree trunks, where they pushed through the ground—bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes. Always first to show their nodding heads in the spring, they reached towards the sunshine and brittle heat in the brilliant, blue sky. Blink.

I’ve never seen her like this. I’ve been here for hours and she won’t talk to me at all…won’t even acknowledge I’m here. Who could that be? I know that voice, she thought again.

Outside, ice reached down with sharpened fingers from tree branches, where the few stubborn leaves refused to fall.

You did good, Jess. Give me just a few minutes with Mica, but don’t go far. That was a different voice—soothing, deep, and sonorous—one to hear across a breakfast table, or from the darkness of a bedroom. Mica wondered a little at her imagination going places she didn’t usually go.

Warm, she thought as something soft, but also hard wrapped around her back and then over her shoulders. That’s warm. That’s nice...

She’d been cold for a long time now.

Mica, the deep voice said beside her ear, where are you, babe?

I’m right here, she thought, see me?

Mica, babe, what happened?

Oh no, my world is ending. She remembered the words pouring from the phone, despairing sounds drilling grief into her mind, and voiced the overwhelming fear, anger, sadness, and frustration echoing through her head.

The blanketing warmth jerked and pulled away, leaving a frisson of chill down her back. Her arms were still wrapped tensely around her legs, pulling and holding her knees tightly to her chest. Holding herself together the only way she knew how, through grit and determination. But I liked the warmth.

Running steps slapped down the hallway towards them, and then into the room, stumbling to a stop near the window seat. What the hell was that, Mason? asked the first voice.

I don’t know, Jess. She just screamed. From the way her voice sounds, it’s not the first time either. That was the sexy voice again, the one that made her think of dark places, forbidden emotions, and wanted things.

Did you touch her? Did you freak her out? Why are you sitting so close?

Mica thought hard a minute, focusing. That voice…I know that voice. Jessica Nalan. She’s an employee, a friend. She’s…safe.

Jess? Mica rasped, turning her head to look into the room and away from the scene outside. Her best friend since college, Jess was standing there in a UI sweatshirt and baggy jeans, feet clad in her favorite red Converse. She’d topped off her look with a crazy patchwork toque tugged so far down on her head it only showed the very ends of her short, blonde hair. Her face was scrunched in worry, looking at Mica and chewing on her bottom lip, but that facial expression was pretty normal for Jess.

Oh, thank God, Mica. You scared the fucking crap out of me with your shit. I hate you so hard right now. Jess scrambled to her knees on the floor next to the window seat. What the hell is going on, girly? And you better not tell me ‘nothing.’ I’ve been here for nearly six hours, and this is the first thing you have said or done. Well, other than scream like a goddamn banshee a second ago, but I think Mason was the cause. Maybe he tried to cop a feel. I dunno. He’s a badass, after all. What the fuck…I should let you talk…sorry…shutting up now. Jess finally wound down and wrapped her arms around her torso. She laid her head on the window seat, her neck craning around to look up at Mica. You’re my best friend, bitch. Don’t go scaring me like that again.

Warmth settled against Mica’s back again halfway through Jess’ rant. She felt hard, wide, sculpted arms wrap around her, layering over the top of her arms and legs, warming her all around. Those strong arms were covered in ink, with both beautiful and brutal tribal, and intricate, colorful, artistic tattoos. The designs laid alongside each other on the skin covering those muscles holding her tightly.

She recognized the tattoos; she was very familiar with those colors. She looked down to study the beautiful phoenix rising from flames that covered all the way up one arm starting at the back of the hand. With that recognition, she jerked and looked over her shoulder, knowing exactly who she would see: Davis Mason, her next-door neighbor for the past several years—her very ripped and tattooed, very tough and powerful, very much without-boundaries biker neighbor. A man who had somehow become an unlikely friend.

She watched his dark, iron-colored eyes crinkle at the corners as he appeared to try not to laugh at Jess’ monologue. Mica knew the lengthy flow of words covered the depths of her true worry, a trait Jess never tried to change, one of the many constants Mica loved about her.

There was no ink on Mason’s handsome face, nothing to pull attention away from his strong cheekbones and full lips. Most of his tattoos began somewhere in the area covered by the soft T-shirt that stretched over his well-developed shoulders and biceps, but since moving in she’d seen the tats often enough as they chatted while he worked on his bike and cars in the uncovered driveway next door, she didn’t need to see them to know they were there.

His chin came to rest softly on her shoulder, the rough scruff on his cheek rubbing against the soft skin of her neck. The move felt somewhat encroaching and territorial, and it made her more than a little uncomfortable, but she didn’t move away. He’d never touched her like this, had never been in her home, but seeing him here now felt oddly right. She was beginning to grasp that something had happened today, to her.

What’s wrong? she asked, looking between Jess and Mason. How did y’all get in? Mason, why are you here? She glanced around the room, seeing it was just their small group of three gathered on the window seat. Jess, if you’re here, then where’s Brandy? Is she coming over? Better question—why are you here? I’m a little confused.

Looking around again, Mica didn’t see anything overtly out of place. Her furniture—all purchased for comfort, not style—was where it should be. There were no holes in the walls, no sign of a struggle or break-in—nothing at all to indicate a need for the level of alarm she sensed in Jess.

Certainly nothing to warrant having Mason in her home. They were friendly, but at times she wasn’t all that comfortable around him. He could be a tad overwhelming, and she’d had a lot of that from the men in her life up to now. If anything, the biker scared her, really frightened her. It felt like he always held himself in check, and seemed capable of dangerous violence. As a biker, he was plain scary—even though he’d never threatened to hurt her or even really given her grief—but it wasn’t until she found out he owned her favorite bar that she realized he had an uncanny ability to blend into the business world. The fact he could effortlessly bridge the two worlds—only one of which she was comfortable in—made him seem even more dangerous to her.

Jess lifted her head, eyes searching Mica’s face in concern. You called and left a message at MishMash not making much sense, talking about how everything was wrong. Soon as I got it, I came right over and let myself in like I always do. Don’t act like this.

MishMash was Mica’s business, and Jess was her sole employee. They were a dynamic duo, working in the world of web and application development. The company had grown quickly over the past few months, and there was always more work than hours in the day. In a weird twist of fate, the business Mason owned also held the lease for her office space—another place where he encroached into her life regularly.

Brandy Still was Jess’ girlfriend, a fabulous baker who owned a brilliant little shop downtown called I Ache, You Ache Cupcakes. They’d all been friends since college, and regularly hung out together at one of Mason’s bars, Jackson’s. All of these facts made sense to Mica; they rattled around in her head and she let them settle for a minute.

Untangling herself from the hold Mason had on her, she shifted slowly to the other end of the window seat. Carefully stretching as her muscles, long locked into one position, complained about moving so quickly, she looked outside at the side yard again.

Blink. Snow blanketed a yard, swirling around an imagined mound of dirt and remorseless marble that threatened to break her heart. Blink. Snow blanketed the yard, blowing smoothly across the unblemished yard and drifting into the shoveled sidewalk. Blink.

Mica, come back, please, you’re scaring us, Mason called across the space between them.

Mica shook her head, shifting her gaze from the window to him. From the look on his face, she’d drifted off again. He moved, twisting on the seat, the leather vest with his club patches creaking. Mason stared at her, really stared and she became uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny he was giving her. Leaning towards her, he used one finger to tuck a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear, every look and movement silently drawing her attention to her appearance.

Mica realized she was tired, exhausted to the point of feeling drained. Her hands shook when she lifted them to shove the rest of her hair back, and she made a face when she realized how greasy the hanks felt. How long have I been sitting here? Swallowing was painful, her mouth dry and when she tried to wet her lips, the tip of her tongue dragged drily across the bottom one.

Mason cocked his head and asked, When did you last eat, babe?

She swiveled to look at Jess, then back to Mason. I don’t know, I…I can’t remember. Mica pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to massage away a sudden pounding pain. I don’t think you answered me yet. Why are you here? She thought to herself that he must not be riding today since he didn’t have his full leathers on, just a vest. But if it’s snowing, then of course he isn’t riding. She glanced back outside, verifying the snow blowing across the side yard, then met his look again.

He watched her face with such focus, she felt like she was drowning in his steely eyes. Mica broke their shared gaze, her mind wandering farther afield, observing that his jeans were nicely tight in all the right places, cinching around his narrow waist, and then flaring down his muscular thighs and legs to his boots. Why would I think about his clothes? she asked quietly to herself.

Whose clothes are you thinking about? Jess’ voice was quiet, soft with concern. You scared me, girly. You wouldn’t talk to me after I got here and I didn’t know what to do. I saw his car across the drive and…here he is.

Taking a deep breath, Mica unfolded her legs, shivering as she set her bare feet on the chilly floor and looked down at herself. She closed her eyes when she realized her state of undress. Her pajamas, which were simply a sheer, loose-fitting camisole that hid nothing, not even the rosy areolas of her nipples, and her dangerously short running shorts that barely covered her more private areas. I will not be embarrassed in my own home, in my own pajamas, she thought, struggling with herself to not wrap her arms around her chest in protection and modesty.

Okay. Everything’s okay. I’m fine now, thanks. She smiled, knowing it probably looked as artificial as it felt, lifting her eyes to look straight ahead. You can both go now. Thank you so much for your help. I appreciate it. She hoped against hope that would be all it took to get them out of her home, her personal space. Making shooing motions with her hands, she stood quickly, hoping to move things along in order to regain her seclusion.

What was the last thing you ate, Mica? Mason asked again, quietly.

I don’t remember, honestly. She laughed, clamping her mouth shut and shaking her head when it came out a little high-pitched; that wasn’t what she had wanted to say. Taking a breath, she started again, I’m okay, thank you. I’ll eat as soon as you are both on your way. I promise. There, that should get them moving, but…

Her thoughts slowed. Why do I want to be alone so badly? What was she not remembering?

The phone call. Oh, God.

Closing her eyes against the wave of fresh pain, she said, Michael called, Jess. He needs somewhere to stay. He’s coming here. Sitting back down on the window seat, Mica put her head in her hands, running her fingers through her hair and leaning over slightly. She was beginning to feel sick. The phone call.

Oh, hell-to-the-no he is not, Jess retorted. He is not staying with you. Don’t you remember the last time you saw him? Asshole stole a helluva lotta money from you. He left you high and dry in Abilene, and I had to wire you cash to get home. That is sooooo not happening again on my watch, dammit. He’s a fucktard and you know it. No way is he staying here.

Jess, she started, and had to stop to catch her breath because saying the words was like climbing the steepest hill, Emily died. Mica struggled to pull in another breath, trying not to sob. Em died, and he needs somewhere to get his head on straight. She sighed softly, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, welcoming the darkness. Emily had been a good friend. When they were growing up in Texas, she’d been like a second sister to Mica and Michael for years, and then grew to be much more than that for Michael.

Em had been a confidante, best friend, and alter ego to Mica. Em died, Jess. I missed her funeral. I wasn’t there. I didn’t even find out in time to send flowers. I should have been there for her family, and for Michael.

Lifting her head from her hands, she saw Mason looking at her with compassion, but also he seemed to be assessing her, as if he could see into her past and uncover things in the shadows there. She had the impression that once in your life, Davis Mason did not go away willingly.

Jess scooted closer to the window seat, pulling Mica into a comforting hug as her shoulders shook with unreleased sorrow and pain. "Oh, hun, I’m so sorry. She was a fun one when she was here, yeah? I know you guys were good friends. What happened, do ya know? Why the hell didn’t he call sooner?" That last was asked in a snide tone, but Mica ignored the question.

"Michael didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask. He sounded so broken on the phone. So, he is coming here. What’s that saying? ‘Home is the place where they have to take you in?’ Well, that’s here. My home is now his home, I guess. He’ll be flying up in a couple of days, so I’ll need to take off and pick him up at O’Hare Monday afternoon."

Who’s Michael? asked Mason. And who’s Emily? Mica twisted to see he’d locked eyes with Jess over her shoulder. He nodded slowly and Mica turned back in time to catch Jess mouthing Monday at him.

Mica pulled away from Jess, turning reddened eyes towards him. She’d forgotten he was still in her home for a moment. He was in her home, her private space, and she was still in her pajamas. He’s my brother, Mason. Emily was his fiancée, and she was my best friend growing up. She visited us, oh, probably about a year ago, but I don’t think you got a chance to meet her. Michael’s never really been outside of Texas, so this will all be new to him. The way he sounded, I think new will be good. Michael had worked hard to gain Emily’s trust, and after nearly thirteen years, she had finally accepted his proposal and ring. That’s all gone now. The thought trickled slowly through her mind. God, I had hoped for his sake they were going to work out after everything. Poor, Em.

Michael is not just her brother, Mason. He’s her freakin’ twin. Jess chortled a little. But you’d never know it seeing them together. Oil and water, night and day—that’s the Scott twins in a nutshell. He’s as blond as they come, and pretty as can be…but he’s a bad dude. There’s a twist in him that comes out at the expense of others. Sorry, Mica, but seriously—truth, always. She cut her eyes over at Mica in a half apology that did nothing to salve Mica’s annoyance at Jess’ penchant for running her mouth.

It seems like I learn something new about you every time we talk, Mica. I have a new question for you, though. When you melt cheese between two pieces of bread, do you call it a toasty, or a grilled cheese? Mason smiled gently at her without moving from his place on the window seat.

Um…grilled cheese. Why? Puzzled, she was caught off guard. Thinking it was a pretty unusual question, she looked at him as he shifted and unfolded his body from the window seat, climbing to his feet smoothly.

He was sitting behind me a few minutes ago, with his arms wrapped around me, she realized with a start, and it felt warm and safe. It wasn’t scary; it had been comforting. She sat up straight, shaking her head slightly at her wandering mind. That is so not happening, she told herself. Nothing is going to happen. Get a freakin’ grip, Mica. Get a grip, getagrip. Jess wants to talk about bad dudes? Well, he’s a biker, for God’s sake…in a motorcycle club. He’s the club president.

He walked across the room and headed into the kitchen area, and when he spoke it took her a second to realize he was responding to her last question. So I know what to call it when I hand you a ‘grilled cheese’ on a plate. Water or something else to drink, Mica? He continued on into the kitchen and immediately made himself at home, opening the cabinets with a pull of his hand to find what he needed. Quickly locating and pulling out a plate and pan, he moved towards the refrigerator.

Um…water is good, but you don’t have to do that. Please. I have a lot to do, so if you can please leave now…I’m okay, really. You can go. Both of you. Flustered, she stood and padded after him, stopping in the kitchen archway as he turned to look at her.

With one eyebrow raised, he raked over her with his eyes, seeming to take notice of every detail as he slowly looked from her head to her toes and back up again. She felt naked under his gaze, knowing the flimsy pj’s left nothing to the imagination. Heat rose in her face, and a heavy feeling pooled low in her belly as her nipples peaked and tightened. Maybe you want to take a quick shower and change clothes? he suggested quietly.

Grasping his meaning, she wrapped her arms around herself, covering her breasts and nodding. He’s not going away until he feels like he’s fixed this. It seemed it would be easier to acquiesce than continue to argue with the man. As usual.

She huffed out a sigh as she told him, Okay. Over her shoulder she called, Hey, Jess, I’m going to grab a shower. Where did you say Brandy is? She was breathing quickly, closing her eyes to shut out any continuance of Mason’s unashamed appraisal of her body, and to focus on the response from her friend. She didn’t want to allow herself to think about her reaction to Mason.

My woman’s a working woman. She got in a big cookie order, but should be done in a few hours. We’ll still see you at Jackson’s tonight, right? Jess sounded troubled, not yet convinced things were okay. Mica turned, nodding. "If you are okay, I’m gonna head out then. I mean, if you are really okay? The mention of her favorite bar had made Mica relax a little, and she smiled at Jess, seeing those familiar blue, questioning eyes boring deep and hard. I can stay, hun, if you want," she offered quietly.

Yes. No. I mean—yes, I’m fine, Jess. You go ahead. I’m sorry to have been a bother. Suddenly near tears, Mica turned quickly and fled down the hall to her master bedroom and the large attached bathroom. See ya, and thanks for coming over to check on me, she called back up the hallway at Jess.

Mica closed the bathroom door and leaned her back against it, waiting until she heard her front door open and close. Blowing out a long, slow breath, she softly bounced the back of her head against the door several times. Emily is gone. Everything is all wrong. It should have been me. Sliding…collapsing slowly down the door, she gathered her knees to her chest once again and huddled into herself as the first tears slipped down her cheeks. It should have been me.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting like that, when brisk knocks on the door at her back roused her from her grief. The slight tremors of the wood echoed the sobs and shudders coming from her frame as she cried on the bathroom floor. Mason’s voice came through the door. Babe, I don’t hear the shower. I’m coming in.

The door pushed against her firmly, slowly scooting her away from the opening and into the middle of the room. No, please don’t, was all she was able to get out of her mouth before strong arms scooped her up off the floor and against a hard chest.

Oh, babe, I’m sorry your friend died, Mason said as he stood there holding her.

She tried to twist out of his arms. Put me down. Please. Mica felt self-conscious, wriggling to break his hold and regain her feet.

His chest rumbled against her, and she realized he was laughing quietly. Be still and stop squirming. He walked back into her bedroom and placed her on the edge of the bed. Sit and wait here just for a sec. Mason turned back to the bathroom, disappearing inside. A moment later she heard the faucets turning, water running, and a cabinet opening and closing.

Mason strolled back into the room and muttered under his breath, Not how I expected the first time to go, as he came to a stop in front of her. Okay, arms up, he ordered as he bent and grasped the bottom edge of her top. She hesitated for a moment, and then he repeated in a low, forceful tone, "I said arms up, Mica. The command in his voice was unmistakable, and she complied without hesitation. He drew it up and smoothly pulled it off over her head. Now stand." And she did, slowly, as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her shorts. He dragged the shorts and her panties down her legs, bending low and waiting patiently for her to step out of them.

She was naked and realized he’d averted his eyes, turning his head to look at the wall. Thank you, Mason. I believe I can take it from here. He stood, still not looking at her, and walked stiffly out of the room, turning back down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Jeez-oh-PETE, I cannot believe that man just undressed me in my own bedroom…and I let him, she thought as she moved quickly into the bathroom. She stepped into the tile shower, where the steam had already condensed on the glass door, affording her a sense of privacy. Tipping her head back under the stream of water, Mica thought about how this was so not like her, and then her breath caught in the back of her throat. She whispered, Oh, my God, he saw me naked, followed quickly on its heels with, No, he didn’t. He looked away. As she poured shampoo into her palms, she wracked her memory over his behavior, smiling at how gallant and kind he seemed.

She stilled, remembering which way his head had been turned, closing her eyes as she realized the dresser mirror was on that wall. Oh, my God, he saw me naked, ran through her mind again as she wondered how she’d get through the embarrassment. At least she had clean clothes appropriate for her mood she could put on after the shower.

2 - Grilled cheese

Mason

Mason groaned and adjusted himself for the third time since returning to the kitchen. The hard length of his cock was so swollen it was painful, and being constrained in the tight jeans elevated it to just short of agony. If he could just get her body out of his mind, he’d be okay, but the expanse of pale skin and ample curves tormented him.

He’d even turned his head aside when he’d undressed her, only to find a strategically placed mirror, where he watched himself. Her hand had rested on his shoulder as she’d stepped delicately out of her shorts and panties. Gaze locked on the mirror, he’d watched the smooth movement of the muscles in her back and ass. Fuck! He’d held her in his arms briefly, and her full, soft body fit into him as if she were made for him. The raw pain etched on her face would revisit him in nightmares, no doubt. She was so strong, and yet so fragile all at once. Woman needs a protector. He’d wanted to hold her, rock and cuddle her there on the window seat, but her violent reaction to something he’d done or said had put an end to that quickly.

I wish she was mine and I had a right to have taken her there on the bed. Or in the shower. Or in the kitchen. Dammit. It felt right with my arms wrapped around her. I want to take care of her. I want her. He adjusted himself again, breathing deeply in an effort to calm down. Talking under his voice to himself, "You cannot do this to her right now. Did you see her face, you fucking asshat? She’s hurting. That’s not how you want her to remember you, is it? Get a fucking clue and be a friend, fucking asshole."

Have you always talked to yourself, Mason? The amused tone came from behind him.

Jerking around, he nearly knocked the pan off the stove and realized he needed to get the sandwich onto the plate before it burned. Fuck me. How the hell long was I standing here? He turned his body around, just enough to see Mica standing in the archway idly chewing on the edge of her thumbnail. He had to keep his hips turned to hide his erection, and then had to hide a grin when he saw the pointedly unattractive comfort-wear she’d put on after her shower. Water bottle’s on the countertop, he said roughly. He stood there for a moment, looking at her and taking in how her wet, dark hair trailed over her shoulders to cover the peaks of her breasts. His gaze then focused on her face, with its wide mouth, petite, upturned nose, and those slay-me green eyes. Your sandwich is ready, so come sit down and eat, babe. It’s gonna get cold. When did you say your brother called? What day?

He called this morning, early. The funeral was yesterday and he couldn’t sleep, so he called to talk about Em. Her brow furrowed. He sounded so sad and confused. You know how families are, not all memories are good. She swallowed and he watched as the muscles in her throat moved, saw the tiny shake of her head as she tried to deny whatever thought had so bothered her. Not all memories are good, she repeated, her voice soft and trembling.

He sighed. But what day was it, Mica? Mason pressed, knowing the answer, but needing her to come to the same conclusion.

I said he called today, Saturday. The funeral was on Friday. Why? she asked, her brows dipping. She shook her head a little as she looked towards an unhelpful, blank, wipe-off calendar on the front of the fridge.

Well, for starters, today is not Saturday. Come on, eat your grilled cheese. Did you grab the water? He cajoled her into moving to the breakfast bar. Maneuvering around her, he pulled a stool up behind her as he reached around to place a plate on the table in front of her and urged, Eat and we’ll head out. I’ll drive you. The roads are pretty treacherous.

But Michael called today, this morning, I swear. She paused a moment. What do you mean it’s not Saturday? I’m confused. She shook her head again. You want to head out to exactly where? Sitting on the stool, Mica looked down at the sandwich, and then seemed to get lost in her thoughts. She flicked a glance at him and back to her plate. Her brows drew down into a scowl, similar to the expression she’d turn his way when he had club members over and it got too rowdy. He knew in her mind they were acquaintances, neighborly, but not overly friendly, and Mason knew he’d pushed her hard today.

He nodded at her. Why don’t you eat first, and then get dressed, okay? I don’t think you want to wear those sweats to pick up your brother. It’s pretty cold out, and the snow is blowing. Do you remember what time his flight gets in? Mason moved around the breakfast bar, hooking another stool with the toe of his leather boot and settling down with his own bottle of water to watch her eat.

Without moving, she brought her eyes up to meet his. Mason, she said slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, what day is it?

He exhaled noisily. You aren’t going to eat until I tell you, are you? Nodding to himself, he said, It’s Monday, Mica. That’s why Jess was so worried, because you didn’t show up at work today. You called her yesterday with some bullshit message blowing off plans you’d made, but then you called work and left a voice mail, and she didn’t get it until today. She came right over and found you zoned out on the window seat in there. Mason pointed back through the archway to where she had been when he came in. You wouldn’t talk to her, and she saw my car in the drive, so she called me. But it’s Monday, and your brother is evidently flying in today.

He watched her carefully, seeing emotions flit across her face nearly too fast to recognize, but he thought that as always with her, the dominant one might always be fear. It had been that way since she moved in several years ago. But, as he’d closely watched over her through the months and years, he’d seen—with pleasure and hope—her fear become less prevailing, a less frequent visitor. Now it nearly broke his heart to see that fear settling back in, seemingly for a stay.

Her features tightened, a look of terror crossing her face. Two days? she questioned out loud, her voice thin with shock. You think I sat there in that window for two days? What kind of crazy person zones out for two whole days? She rolled her eyes skyward in dismissal. You think I lost two flippin’ days? How on earth could that happen?

He said quietly, Not a crazy person, but someone in the grip of a strong emotion, like grief or fear. He leaned at an angle across the breakfast bar. I saw you in the window yesterday, but I know you like to sit there a lot, so I didn’t think anything of it until I came in here and saw you in the same position. Mason reached out, covering her hand with his, and looked down, noting how large it was in comparison. I’m so sorry I didn’t pay closer attention to you, babe. I’m sorry I didn’t come find you sooner. He’d pushed sincerity into his tone and was rewarded by a lifting of her cheeks, followed by a slow nod acknowledging his admission that he watched her. God, so fuckin’ beautiful. He squeezed Mica’s hand gently, then sat up, rubbing his palms briskly down the fabric on his thighs. Now, what time does your brother’s flight get in at O’Hare? Do you remember the airline?

Nodding, she said contemplatively, It’s in my phone. Mica shook her head. I was really sitting in the window for two days? That doesn’t seem right. Mason studied her a moment, smiling when she finally picked up the sandwich from the plate and took a bite. This is good, Mason, thank you, she practically moaned, seeming to recognize her hunger finally as she took a second, and then a third bite.

Mason padded over to the table near the window seat, picking up her cell phone and quickly scrolling through her text messages until he saw the one he wanted. A startled yelp of laughter burst from him. Babe, BastardSon is how you have your brother’s contact information listed in your phone? He couldn’t stop another small laugh from escaping, even though he pressed his lips together to try and stop it. BastardSon, really?

We have a complicated relationship. She huffed air out of her open mouth, fluffing her not-quite-dry bangs. I haven’t seen my brother in several years, and honestly, I never expected to see him again…ever. You heard Jess, he’s been a pain in my butt. He’s family, though, so I’m the only one who can talk bad about him. BastardSon sums it up, really.

Looking at the flight details and checking the time on the phone, Mason first put Michael’s contact information in his own phone, then he added Mica’s to his phone, too. He looked to see if she had his numbers and was pleased that she did. She had his home, cell, and Jackson’s—all the important ways to contact him—and he was listed as…Biker Neighbor. Rolling his eyes, he sighed and changed it to Mason, then set the phone back down on the table to start walking quickly to the front door. Babe, I’m getting my car. I’ll be out front with it all warmed up when you’re ready. We need to go in like fifteen minutes. This snow is going to slow things down. She opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. So finish your sandwich and then don’t forget to change, if you want to—but for the record, I’m a fan of nearly anything you wear, even those antisex, man-armor sweats.

Mason walked out, closing the door behind him, leaning back against it for a moment as he huffed a laugh. Sassy and cute, just like he’d known since she moved in. Beautiful and smart, well, you didn’t own a business right out of college if you weren’t intelligent. Troubled and hurt, a person could read that from one look at her face when she spoke of her brother, downplaying his betrayals because of family. Jesus fucking Christ, he thought, woman don’t need complications in her life like me. As he walked to his car, he glanced through the window, seeing her still in the kitchen, sandwich lifted halfway to her mouth, lost in her thoughts again. No, what she needs is a protector, and I’ve already set myself that role.

***

Mica

After changing into clothes a little more appropriate for Chicago in the grip of winter, Mica cautiously stuck her head out the front door. As promised, Mason’s sedan was sitting at the curb at the end of her freshly shoveled walkway. Condensation drifted slowly from the rear of the vehicle as it idled and warmed. Standing in the doorway, she couldn’t see anyone in the driver seat, so she stepped out and ducked a little, peering from her front porch, trying to see through the tinted windows better. Are you ready, babe? came Mason’s voice from behind her inside her house. Surprised, she turned swiftly, losing her balance on the icy residue on the cement porch. His arms came up quickly and gathered her to his chest for the second time that day, rescuing her from an ungraceful tumble down the two steps to the walkway.

How did you get behind me? she asked breathlessly; his arms were like iron bands around her back, holding her firmly to him.

Mason chuckled. I was sitting in the chair in the hallway when you ran out of your bedroom like seven hells were after you and approached the front door like it was evil incarnated. You didn’t seem to see me, oddly enough, but I saw you. Babe, I always see you. Are you ready to go? Got your purse, phone, everything you need?

Closing her eyes briefly, Mica pressed against his chest with her flattened palms, pushing away from him. I can drive myself. That’s what I was going to tell you. I’ll go get my car now. Thank you, again. The sandwich was good. I put the pan in the sink—not that I think you should have, but I didn’t want you think about it or wonder later. I’m okay. It’s all good…yeah… She realized she was rambling like Jess and her voice trailed off at the last word as he slowly released her, her feet solidly beneath her before letting go all the way.

I’m driving you, Mica. Your car is shit in the snow, and you know you need new tires. So, tell me now—do you have what you need for this trip to pick up your brother? Let’s get in the car, or we’ll be late. Mason spoke slowly, not as if she was a child, but like he realized her brain was not working quite right yet and needed a little more time to absorb things.

His tone was so firm, all her resolve folded. The idea of driving to the airport in the snow wasn’t attractive, and he was so adamant, it seemed silly to continue to argue. Okay. She nodded, sliding her purse over the shoulder of her jacket and pulling her door closed behind them. Let’s go then, but I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done, Mason. A slight smile curled her lips, and she smoothed her hands over her jeans. This is above and beyond the scope of a good neighbor, and I thank you.

Could you thank me by just gettin’ in the goddamned car, then? Or do you want us to be late? Maybe you don’t want BastardSon to come and stay, after all? That would work, too. You’re making me work for everything, babe, can you go along to get along for once, and just get into the car.

Startled, she let him maneuver her down to the car, his hand firmly at the small of her back as she kept her eyes on the walk, watching for places that the salt and sand had not yet melted. He’s done so much for me, and I’m being a jerk. Mica scrunched up her nose and chastised, she nodded as he opened the car door for her, agreeing with a simple, Yes.

I can live with that, he responded, and she glanced up to see him smiling down at her as she slid into the seat.

3 - By firelight

Mica

Mica sat on her back porch watching the squirrels chasing each other up and down the many trees available for their aerobatic antics. In her favorite jeans and thermal shirt, she had her feet propped up on edge of the fire pit. A modest blaze kept the chill of the late spring evening away, and her e-reader would let her read past sundown.

Picking up her tumbler of clear liquid, she gauged the amount of tequila she’d drank so far, and thought wryly it might not be quite enough yet. Grinning at herself, she sipped and picked up her e-reader, flipping pages with her thumb until she was back at the beginning of the current chapter. She hated starting in the middle of things, and if it meant she had to reread a few pages, it was worth it for the story’s continuity.

Michael was in the house watching TV; he’d been staying in almost all the time since he came to stay with her a couple of months ago. She occasionally got him out to Jackson’s, but he really was trying for peace in his head, and said drinking fuzzied that peace.

Shifting her legs, she rolled her head against the back of the chair, thinking back to when they brought him here from the airport. Mason had been so good to her and helpful that day. She grinned as she remembered Michael’s mistake, thinking Mason was her boyfriend. The look on Mason’s face was priceless, and she’d quickly stepped into the gap to explain they were just neighbors.

It had been interesting getting to know her twin again; they’d been apart for so long. Even before they weren’t able see each other physically, they’d been emotionally apart forever. Michael was thrilled she’d gone on and graduated college, and she showed him pictures of her commencement ceremony.

He asked her if it was awkward not having any family at the ceremony; you could always trust Michael to dig to the quick when he thought he saw a wound. Smiling, she told him about the group of strangers who stood cheering and whistling for her, and how it had made her day. She mused that it was probably an alumni group who found out which students didn’t have any reserved seats for family. It seemed like something nice to do for graduates, and she’d appreciated it. That was also the first time she’d gone into Jackson’s bar, which was another really great memory, and a good portion of the reason it was her favorite hangout.

"Seriously, girly, today was graduation. We need to let loose and live a little. Jess broke out into song, dancing awkwardly to her own lyrics to a popular hard rock tune. Graduation day is over. I haven’t had fun in like forever. Our life’s about to cha-hange."

Mica looked over at where she stood in their shared kitchen. Their dorm rooms had become a place of safety and sanctuary over the past four years, and today was the day they were supposed to be out. Even knowing it was coming, Mica hadn’t emotionally prepared for this. Plans, yeah, she had those, but prepared? Not even close.

"I know, she told Jess. Let’s get the last boxes into the back of the pickup and we’ll head out. Chicago, here we come!" Bending over, she grabbed her computer bag and the box of software she had left for last. With one final glance around the space, she and Jess walked out the door and into their new lives.

In the truck on the way to their new homes, Mica laughed at Jess when she continued on her path of planning for party central for tonight. Interrupting Jess’ soliloquy on how sober was overrated, Mica told her, So, there’s this great looking bar not far from the temp housing the realtor set me up in. We should totally go check it out. Jackson’s looks classy, at least from outside. She’d bought a house, but it wouldn’t be ready until next week, when the furniture her sister, Molly, was sending up from Texas would be delivered.

"Walking distance from your digs? Hells yeah, that sounds perfect. We’ll tie on a little celebration tonight and see what kind of hottie