Rebel Wayfarers MC, #10
Date: March 6, 2016
Bones most profound childhood memory is of the day he died. Decades later, he
has built an empire where he is king. His brothers have his back, and life is
good. So good, he doesn’t realize what’s missing until he meets her. Ester
seems to be the one woman capable of looking beyond his mask and seeing … him.
twelve. The stick-thin son of a small-time drug king, his demand for justice
fell on deaf ears, and the identity of his sister’s killer remained a mystery.
From that day forwards, Sal vowed he would never forget how it felt to be
of the dominant outlaws in Chicago, he deals from a place of strength and
power, leveraging fear as a weapon. He is a leader among men, having honed
loyalty through harsh lessons, and earned trusted friendships until none can
stand against him. He is Bones.
black and grey, with hardly any inch of skin left bare. A hundred different
sigils and symbols on each arm, ink crawled up his neck like the collar of a
closely fitted shirt. Black and colored ropes of pictures disappeared
underneath his shirt. Strong hands, with muscles that danced beneath the images
as he moved. Bones wore his skin like a shield, a barrier to hold at bay those
who wouldn’t put in the time to know who he is. Who didn’t care enough to learn
about the man behind the bars written on his skin. The ink as isolating as any
jail cell unless you held the key.
that time on the run from her own fears, failing to escape from the demons in
her mind. Her life on the fringe of society has given her a unique perspective
on humanity, and a cautious but abiding curiosity about the nature of people.
She sees pain and terror everywhere, except when she looks at him. Bones alone
helps relieve the piercing agony of her thoughts.
4 – My beauty
rolled the bike to a slow stop, scanning the benches in the park. It was the
third one he’d been to in the past hour, and with each approach, he had felt
his pulse speed in anticipation. There, he thought, satisfaction and relief
sweeping through him. She sat on a bench, head cocked to one side, listening to
a boy tell her a story. Arms pumping, the boy seemed to be miming every aspect
of the tale, from running while looking frantically over his shoulder, to
leaping across an obstacle, finally collapsing back onto the bench with arms
lifted in victory. Ester’s own arms raised in shared jubilation, and Bones
heard her laughter ringing through the air.
first met her months ago. A chance meeting which intrigued him so much, he felt
compelled to seek her out again and again. That first time had been in a
section of town belonging to neither Skeptics, nor Rebels, and his very
presence there carried a certain danger if discovered. Alert to any oddness,
the bolting exit of a woman from an alley with a man’s wallet in her fist had
caught Bones’ attention.
moment later she continued on her way sans wallet, and he’d walked into the
alley to see what was transpiring—just in time to see a man lifting his hand to
strike the whore in front of him. Bones thought surely the skinny woman must be
a whore like the one who’d just escaped, finding out moments later he had been
wrong. Reading wrong meaning into circumstances, he had judged as surely as
every person on the street judged him. The knowledge had stung.
her regardless, that defense had granted him far more than anticipated. Such
had been his introduction to his nameless friend. Standing with a bag of
spoiled fruit clutched to her chest, she had squeezed so tightly in her fright
the peaches had left pink stains on her shirt. Bright eyes looking out from
underneath a wild mass of hair, she had gifted him with a wide smile when she
stretched out her hand, quoting a ridiculous movie. With her actions and words,
she’d shown him she had mastered not only her environment, but also was a
master at observation. She’d taken his measure in a glance, and not found him
wanting. Something for which he was eternally grateful, because she somehow
made his life richer.
homeless, she was filled with a giving nature the likes of which he had never
seen. He had watched one day as she took a loaf of bread given to her by a
shopkeeper and divided it down so her portion was the least. Half given to a
woman with a child, half of what remained to a legless veteran on the street corner,
half of what remained to a dog that whined and twined around her legs, making
her laugh, and half of the last piece went to the clutch of pigeons that landed
at her feet the moment she took a seat on a bench, happy to stuff a single bite
into her mouth, laughing again as the birds strutted and preened at the
stood, and she tilted her head up to look at him, then they simultaneously
twisted their necks to look at a red-faced woman shouting, standing on the
path. Bones watched as the boy shrugged, then ducked his chin to his neck at
another shout. Embarrassed, it seemed. Seated, she shooed him away, releasing
him from the niceties of society and the boy ran backwards a few feet, waving
madly until both of her hands rose above her head, pivoting in a wild wave at
the ends of her arms.
Bones thought, checking traffic before he pulled back out, slowly increasing
his speed, riding away from her and no longer caring when she had become his.
She simply was.
Raised in the south, MariaLisa 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.”
A hockey fan, hiker, gamer, and single mom of a special needs son, she
embraces her inner geek and has been working in the tech field for a
publishing company for a couple decades.
Music is a driving passion, and she says, “I love music of nearly any
genre — jazz, country, rock, alt rock, metal, classical, bluegrass, rap,
hip hop … you name it, I listen to it. I can often be seen dancing
through the house in the early mornings. But I really, REALLY love live
music. My favorite thing with music is seeing bands in small, dive bars
[read: small, intimate venues]. If said bar [venue] has a good selection
of premium tequila, then that’s a plus!”