Fury (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 11) by MariaLisa deMora

Author:MariaLisa deMora [deMora, MariaLisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MLK Publishing
Published: 2017-11-05T18:30:00+00:00

Rumors and secrets

Bethany

Sitting in her favorite chair in the apartment, Bethy tilted her head up, looking out the window at the breeze-stirred leaves of the oak trees along the greenway. A few minutes later, silence in the room brought her back to herself, and she turned back to the laptop propped on her knees. The demo track had finished playing, and she not only didn’t know when, but she also didn't remember anything about the music she was supposed to be evaluating. “Shit.”

Restarting the track was a moment’s effort, and one click of the cursor had the opening swell of music filling the room. Closing her eyes, she tried to dig into the sound, separating the different artists’ efforts to see what would make it memorable, saleable. Something people would call or text radio stations to hear.

It wasn’t long before she found herself staring out the window again and set the computer aside with an irritated huff. Lifting her hands, she roughly scratched across her scalp, fingers tangling in her long hair as she gathered it on top of her head. After they’d gotten Ty inside, Sarge had insisted she stay the night, bedding her down in a small room in the cabin. She hadn’t rested well, strange sounds kept her awake until late, and it had been a relief when Ty had come in early the next morning to talk. More coherent than he’d been the night before, they’d had a pleasant breakfast shared with three other men staying there. Sarge had been conspicuously absent, and with the other men joining them, she couldn’t really ask Ty anything about Gabe.

Bethy released her hair, letting it fall around her face. “Derek.” The name spoken aloud startled her, and she snapped her mouth closed. Or Fury, whatever.

Her phone rang and she picked it up, a curl of fear crawling up her spine at seeing Martha Marshall’s name on the screen. “Martha? Is everything okay?” Michael’s adoptive parents didn’t call her. Martha texted when there was news to share, often sending pictures along with a recounting of the various successes Michael had seen over the years.

“Well, yes, and kinda no, Bethany.” Martha’s no-nonsense attitude was one of the things Bethy liked best about her. That, and the fact she loved Michael as if she’d carried and birthed him. “Can you come over? Maybe tonight?”

Bethy glanced at the clock and frowned. Late afternoon was an unusual time of day to receive an invitation for the same day, but Martha was acting odd enough to warrant accepting no matter what she had to reschedule. “Absolutely. What time do you want me there?” She had two station interviews set for six o’clock, but they were taping to play later in the week, so she could arrange to do them later.

“As soon as you can manage it.” Martha’s breath in was audible, and she blew it out in a shaky stream. “Michael isn’t ill, so you don’t have to worry about that. But we need to talk.

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