Defiance (10 page)

“Want to keep hearin’ you,” he told her firmly.

She realized she’d been holding her breath and she let it out in a long moan. More followed, drumming up in the back of her throat, spilling out without embarrassment. And when he dragged the orgasm from her, she clenched around him hard and yelled his name. He held her hips, jerking her back against him as he cursed and lost any last vestiges of his control.

Afterward, he let her go so she could collapse on her belly on the bed. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, her womb still contracted from aftershocks from the massive orgasm.

“Not done,” he told her.

But she was, so damned done. He might’ve been trying to prove she couldn’t handle him but all she’d succeeded in doing was proving to herself that she wanted more.

She’d held onto the memory of that night with him, sure there was no way it could’ve been as good as she’d remembered it. Or maybe, because she knew it could never be that good with anyone else ever again.

She’d been wrong on the first count, so right on the second.

She wasn’t innocent. There’d been Silas. A guy from the outside she’d dated when she’d first been on her own and slept with because she could. Because she’d been trying to forget.

She’d been an idiot to even try. When it was this good, she should’ve clung to the memory, clawed her way back to get it.

You’re here now.

* * *

Tru hadn’t asked him for any promises, although she’d wanted to. Caspar hadn’t asked her, either. But it was nearly morning and he was still next to her. They’d slept, on and off, when he wasn’t inside of her.

“Second time,” he told her, after he’d taken her again. “Second time I spent the night with someone.”

She didn’t want to ask who the first was. But he smiled—smirked really, reading her mind—and then she realized...he was talking about her. The night in the truck, under the stars. She hadn’t needed to ask for a promise after all—she’d gotten something better. For now, it was more than enough.

Mathias

I’d always heard there are only two types of stories—a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town.

Way I figure, there are points in every man’s life where he’s either the journey or the stranger—sometimes both as once.

Bish gives me the finger to end my commentary, since he’s trying to read as he eats his fries doused in ketchup. The diner served some of the best food either of us had in forever and we’d spent a fair amount of time here in the past days since we’d arrived.

Mainly, we’d both been burning up nervous energy, knowing we’d have to fight our way into the MC. We’d heard about the fight that stopped the meeting, and when Caspar had come back to his place in the early morning hours he’d asked me and Bishop to watch out for Tru.

“All this over a woman,” Bish had muttered.

Must be some woman.

We’d seen her, of course—she was hot and everything but man, to go to war, just like that? Must be something really special, I’d continued to argue. We’d stayed up all night, taking turns, hoping to talk to her. No one had come around and Tru had only poked her head out when Bishop introduced us.

She’d stared at us. “Caspar sent you?”

I nodded and she simply said, “You’re not Defiance, but you fought tonight.”

“Yes,” Bishop said.

“Thank you.”

She’d shut the door. I’d heard crying, sure Bish did too, but we didn’t talk about it.

That morning, a guy named Rebel had come with orders from Caspar to take over guard duty. Rebel had joined in the fight at nearly the same time Bish and I had jumped in, which made him okay in my eyes.

I heard the bell over the door ring and then the diner fell silent. I glanced up, signed,
Lance
, with my hand low to the table so only Bish could see it. Bish’s back was to the door—he’d only sit like that if I was around.

He mouthed back,
we’re fucked
, and yeah, probably, since the bull in the china shop was stomping his way over to us, and everyone in the place looked visibly relieved when they realized where his anger was focused.

I stood before he got to our table, but Bish wouldn’t. Probably saw it as a sign of respect, which he wouldn’t give. I saw it as a way to kick someone’s ass who looked like they wanted to kick mine.

The murmurs started when the bell over the door rang again. My peripheral caught Caspar, sauntering through the same path Lance cut.

Lance was almost to me when he stopped and turned halfway, demanded, “Who the fuck are they?” from Caspar while pointing to us.

Caspar went around another table to get closer to us. He motioned for Bish to stand and, after only a moment’s hesitation in which Bish showed Caspar that no submission was given without respect, and that, in this case, the respect was solely for Caspar and not for Lance, Bish stood.

Casper’s voice was loud enough for the rest of the diner to hear, although I had no doubt everyone in Defiance, including Lance, knew about us by now. “Lance, this is Mathias and Bishop—I told you about them during church. They just left the military. I served with their cousin. Guys, this is my father, Lance, President of Defiance and son of one of the founding members of the original Defiance Charter.”

Father.

I knew I was right to hold back that picture, didn’t need to look at Bish to know he was thinking the same thing. Kept my expression neutral as Lance studied both of us.

“You both fought well last night,” Lance said.

“Anything to help Defiance,” Bish told him.

“You weren’t supposed to jump into an MC brawl without permission,” Lance continued.

“We don’t let a military brother stand alone,” Bish said.

I wondered if Caspar knew that only half the men who’d been standing behind him had joined him, which was partially why we’d jumped into the fight in the first place.

I figured he probably did.

“Your cousin send you?” Lance demanded of me now, and Bish answered, “Yes. Before he died in combat, he wrote to tell us about Caspar and Defiance, yes. Said it was our kind of people.”

“He talk?” Lance asked with a jerk of his head toward me.

“No,” Bishop told him.

“He stupid?”

Bish stared at Lance. “No.”

“You his mouth?”

“I try.”

It wasn’t true, but why piss the guy off?

“You fought, but you didn’t fight Defiance,” Lance told us both. “Requirement for anyone to stay on the property. Caspar knows that well as anyone.”

Caspar nodded. “Why don’t we set that shit up now, considering there’s already a fight happening in an hour.”

Lance’s jaw tightened and yeah, this couldn’t be good at all. “Yeah, let’s set that shit up.”

He walked out of the diner. Caspar nodded in our direction and somehow managed to follow Lance out without actually being a follower at all. No easy feat.

Was anyone else noticing that shit?

“No,” Bish said in answer to my hands as he sat back down. Sometimes, I forgot I thought out loud like that.

“You hear? Caspar’s fighting Roan tonight.” Rebel, apparently fresh off guard duty, slid into the booth next to Bish and continued, “Roan’s Lance’s youngest.”

“Where’s Caspar fall?” Bish asked casually.

“Sometime before Silas,” Rebel said. “He’s not Trixie’s kid.”

Pieces were falling into place and yeah, damned good thing I didn’t bust in with that picture. Granted, not telling Caspar soon would make things worse, and Bish’s silent glance at me seemed to concur.

I went to go pay, left Bish talking to Rebel. The woman at the register waved me off. “You’re both on Caspar’s tab, honey.”

She pinched my cheeks, cracked her gum. “Gotta daughter who’s dying to talk with you. Maybe after the fight.”

I nodded and Bish caught up to me. We walked outside and through the compound. A light rain fell, making it colder and damper than usual. We went into Caspar’s, where we’d been staying, and dropped off some of the shit we wouldn’t need. Rebel told Bish that we couldn’t bring in any weapons with us to the fight area, had to come pared down, so we left our shit here and prepped to go check out the arena.

“Figure our fight’s gotta be before Caspar’s,” Bish said.

Do you know who we’re fighting?

“Only know Caspar’s fighting Roan.”

I cracked my knuckles and smiled. Wanted a crack at Roan bad. Bish just shook his head and motioned for me to follow.

He was shirtless already, had it tucked into the back of his jeans and he still wore his tags. I’d tucked those away as fast as I could. Bish sometimes had a problem moving forward; I moved too fast.

Guess together we had a shot at some damned balance.

The rain had turned into a fine mist. We’d gotten halfway to the clubhouse and I felt the attack before I saw any of the men. It was one of those hairs on the back of your neck standing up kind of feelings, and I’d been blessed with those fuckers from birth.

I motioned to Bish and I noted he was as aware as I was.

The next minutes were a blur of shadows and pain—they came from all directions, a blitz attack of fists and kicks with heavy boots and I didn’t worry about orienting myself.

Bish and I had moved back to back, pinned to one another, and we fought in that configuration for as long as we could. We got pulled apart a couple of times, but ended up in mainly the same positions. Been fighting like that since we were little.

When fists were no longer effective on us, the other weapons came out. There was a piece of pipe I knocked out of someone’s hand before I broke their wrist with a satisfying crack. I saw a bat whoosh by, heard Bish tell me to duck.

Unsurprisingly, the wooden bat broke over Bish’s head. The guy who’d done it looked stupidly between the broken end and Bish’s head. In that moment, Bish smacked his forehead to his, sending the guy to the ground, stunned.

I surveyed the men around me. If any of them were military, they should be ashamed of themselves. But a lot of the military men in this group seemed a breed apart from other bikers. At least this sorry-assed group.

Thinkin’ they won’t try that again anytime soon
, I told Bish, who smiled ruefully when he said, “And here I’m thinkin’ just the opposite.”

Chapter Ten

Caspar’s hands flexed. It felt like his first fight all over again. He’d been fourteen and everyone had gathered to see him fight a rival gang’s top boy.

He’d known some from Defiance had bet against him. In some sadistic way, he’d liked that. Being the underdog always had its advantages.

He could only hope not being one had some its own.

Before that first fight, he’d also fought with Lance, although it had been words, not fists. Couldn’t remember what it was about, but it wasn’t anything like what was happening between them now.

The man was seated firmly on Roan’s side of the ropes. Silas stood halfway in between, which Caspar would’ve expected whether they’d fought or not. Guy could never just take a goddamned stand.

Lately, the divide between the old guard and the new had seemed insurmountable. Caspar wasn’t sure when the younger members of the MC stopped completely kowtowing to the older members, but he figured most of it stemmed from the Chaos.

Before that, the younger members had a hell of a lot of perks in the club. They could drink, fight and fuck from a young age, and while they still could, things had taken a serious turn with the Chaos and the fallout.

He’d heard rumblings about archaic rules for a while. The younger generation of Defiance seemed to gravitate toward him, before and after he’d stepped into the role of Enforcer. Maybe because he’d never taken anyone’s shit and they figured he was as good of a role model to follow as any. But the responsibility was humbling and exhilarating.

The war he’d started with the Kill Devils could lengthen the divide further. But he’d found just as many members on his side of the ring as Roan’s.

Lance looked furious. Caspar had always been able to fly under his radar, but those days were over. He figured he had to make himself appear as a big enough threat to Lance so the man wouldn’t think of bumping him off.

Before he could fully immerse himself in fight mode, a small commotion caught his attention. He glanced to the side of the tent, saw Mathias and Bishop come into the main area. Their shirts were torn and muddied, faces bruised and a little bloody, but it was mainly their fists that had gotten the workout.

And hell, they were walking. The men coming in behind them were limping, half dragging one another. One had his arm wrapped in a makeshift sling.

Mathias and Bishop walked toward him.

“Everything cool?” he asked them.

“Guess we already had our fight,” Bishop told him and Mathias smiled. Fiona came up between them, put her arms around both of them.

“I could clean you both up,” she offered.

“Maybe after the fight, sweetheart,” Bish told her and Caspar left them and went over to Lance, jumped out of the ring and asked, “What the hell happened to my probies?”

“Just a pre-initiation to check that we’re not letting pussies into my club,” Lance said easily.

“How they’d check out?”

“They still have to fight.”

“They can do that another night. This shit’s about me and Roan.”

He didn’t give Lance a chance to answer, had to wonder if he’d have taken this same attitude if Tru hadn’t come back, or if she’d pushed him into something sooner than later.

The crowd had ramped up after seeing Mathias and Bishop come in the victors against a team of Lance’s soldiers. Roan was on the other side of the ring, climbing between the ropes. He started to strip and Caspar waited, watched the idiot’s antics with the crowd.

Caspar was already stripped down. His shorts were old BDUs, ripped off at the knees, the rest of him bare. When he felt hands on his shoulders, he looked up from his position on the small stool and saw Tru standing behind him.

Not on lockdown, like he’d wanted, but hell, she was standing by his damned side.

He tugged her around to his front, pulled her into his lap and kissed her. Everyone within sighted distance went silent as she wrapped around him, kissed him back. Her hands wound behind his neck, brushed the bandanna he’d tied his hair back with as his hands cupped her ass and squeezed.

She giggled against his mouth. Giggled. In the middle of all this shit and if he hadn’t known better, he’d think she’d been drinking.

But she was completely sober. Drunk on him. And damn, it was a good look on her.

“That kiss for good luck, babe?”

She remained wrapped around him. “I know you’ve got this. Always did.”

“My fighting turns you on.”

“Always has,” she agreed before kissing him again deeply, her tongue stroking his, his cock hard against her belly.

He pulled back and she dropped to her feet, her eyes lingering between his legs. And that’s when the crowd, at least the people on his side of the ring, began to cheer and she blushed a little and yeah, that combination of innocence and dirty would get him every. Single. Time.

“Go get him, Caspar.” She touched his cheek and he reluctantly let her leave his side.

* * *

Caspar moved like a predator and that made Tru shiver. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, wanted to run her hands over the tattoos and piercings, let his hard, lean body slam against hers. Wanted to taste him again.

She’d begged Rebel to bring her here. Now that Caspar hadn’t been angry, Rebel relaxed a little. Mathias and Bishop were surrounding her as well, her wall of bodyguards.

She spied Lance and Trixie across the way. Trixie nodded in her direction; Lance ignored her. She wrapped her arms around herself and concentrated on the fact that she could still taste Caspar’s kiss.

He’d always been able to intimidate other men with the same cool expression he wore now—it almost looked like he wanted to laugh at his competition but was doing his best to hold back. That always enraged his opponents to the point where they were too angry. And, as odd as it sounded, being too angry during a fight was a huge downfall.

Tru wondered if she was the only one who’d noticed it, wondered whether he did it on purpose or if it was simply a part of his nature he couldn’t help any more than breathing.

“Caspar’s first fight in a while,” Rebel told her.

“Why’s that?”

“Banned. Kept beating everyone.” Rebel shrugged, and she heard the pride in his voice. “Sure tonight won’t be any different.”

The bell rang—the countdown to the fight’s start was less than a minute.

“Finally facing me,” Roan said into the silence following the ringing.

“He couldn’t fight before this,” someone called out from the crowd and Roan sneered, “That’s a fuckin’ myth. But hell, I’ve never been scared of you. Now I get to prove it in front of everyone, you fuckin’ bastard.”

The crowd stilled. To insult his father’s son took balls, but Lance crossed his arms and gave a small grin, a taciturn approval of his youngest’s words.

Caspar’s expression never changed. She found that the scariest thing of all, because even though he appeared unaffected, almost amused, she knew what he had coiled inside. She’d seen it the night he’d told her what her father attempted to do to her.

“He’s cool, Tru,” Rebel told her, sensing her tension.

Mathias made a sign and she looked to Bishop, who told her, “Says it’ll be over quick.”

The bullhorn rang out and Casper and Roan met in the middle of the ring. The match was reffed by Jed, one of Lance’s men. Although not an original, he’d been good friends with Big Hugh. He glanced at her, the disapproval evident as he clasped his hands over the men’s fists, which touched as they waited.

Roan had slammed his against Caspar’s as he detailed loudly what he was going to do to Caspar for the waiting crowd.

Caspar remained characteristically silent.

No reason to talk when you can
(
just
)
do instead.
Cas’s words to her before he’d given her that first orgasm. And then her second and third.

Roan’s mutterings were getting more intense. The more he talked and Caspar stared with that half-amused look and didn’t respond, the more agitated Roan became. By the time Jed lifted his hands and backed away, Roan was livid. He charged against Caspar, slamming him back into the ropes. But he’d overestimated, and the ropes pushed him back with a quick snap, making him stumble back and away from Caspar.

Roan regained his footing quickly but both these men were so strong...it would either be over quickly or a knockdown drag out.

The air filled with smoke and tension. Caspar’s body shone with a thin sheen of sweat and Tru grabbed for Mathias’s arm without realizing it. He didn’t seem to mind, but his focus was entirely on the ring too.

Roan grabbed Caspar, tried to throw him down. It gave Caspar the leverage he needed, used Roan’s body against him, wiping him out at the knees. As Roan struggled to hold on, Caspar brought his knee up to Roan’s face twice in quick succession.

Blood went everywhere. Roan screamed with pain and anger. Lance and Trixie shot up and Casper threw Roan down and then picked him up.

Roan stood with a wobble. Swung for Caspar again. Caspar moved easily out of the way and then gave two quick jabs to Roan’s jaw. She swore she heard the crack and this time, Roan went down and stayed there.

Blood was always spilled at these matches. Always. But this was the baby of the family and anyone who’d pretended this was simply another fight was lying to themselves.

Caspar wasn’t even breathing hard. He turned to the crowd and gave a small nod. His point was proven. And even though Lance was climbing into the ring for Roan and he was the president of the club, Caspar’s side—and even some of Roan’s side—exploded into cheers.

“Ding dong, the asshole’s dead,” Bishop muttered.

Mathias motioned with his hands and Bishop said, “He said,
I
wish
.”

She smiled at Caspar. “Close enough.”

* * *

Caspar threaded his body through the ropes and cleaned his hands, face and chest with the water Mathias brought over to him. He dried off with the clean towel. “Thanks, man. Just make sure you get Tru back to her place.”

Mathias signed and then stopped, like he realized Caspar couldn’t read signs.

“No, I’m not gonna stay,” Caspar answered him, then addressed Mathias’s surprised look. “My mom’s sister was deaf. I’m rusty, but I can read signs.”

Mathias tilted his head and signed more.
Good thing I didn’t curse you out then.

“Yeah, good thing.” He was about to turn away but Mathias signed again.

Dude
,
I
know we’re in the middle of a war and the worst natural disaster of anyone’s lifetime
,
barring the dinosaurs and cavemen
,
but when the fuck we gonna have some fun?

Caspar stared at him for a long moment and then burst out laughing. It had been too long since anything had been fun. And although they were all still semi-raucous, they were also waiting. Watching. For him.

Rebel held out a beer, and Caspar took it, downed half, then yelled, “Turn the goddamned music up,” to Riley, the guy who always played DJ during these occasions.

And just like that, it went from fight to party, just like the old days.

The way it should be.
No grudges.

The crowd was a combination of reverent and wild. Caspar had never felt the goddamned youth in this place more than tonight. When Rebel played “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and the semi-mosh began, he felt like he was seventeen again, when he’d realized he could get out, find something new.

He didn’t want to get out anymore, but he recognized that feeling. It was hope.

Rebel put Caspar’s cut on his shoulders, and Caspar shrugged into it, his chest still bare. Rebel clapped him on the shoulder. “Was a long time comin’.”

Roan had been taken out of the ring by Lance and Linus, another of the earliest members. There was still some blood in the middle of the ring.

“Go to your woman,” Rebel told him.

Your woman
had a nice ring to it.

He saw Fiona walking toward him, turned and saw Tru coming from the opposite way, smiling at him.

Tru. Smiling.

Fuckin’ Technicolor.

Tight jeans. Black T-shirt, long sleeved. Hair like sunshine.

Sexy.

Smiling.

My woman.
He tugged her close once she got to him, and she ran her hands along the leather on his shoulders.

“I saw her heading your way,” she said. “Nice save.”

“After all this, you’re worried about Fiona?”

“Not worried,” she corrected. “I just...I know what you like after a fight.”

“I like you.” She smiled and that lit him up inside, that made the shit surrounding the fight worth it. She was home, the party ramping up and tonight, he planned on enjoying, not enforcing. He trailed his hands down to her hips. “Don’t want you worryin’ about that shit, yeah?”

But she was. “It’s just...after that night, you know...when I saw you and her.”

“Yeah, I know.” He remembered that night well, because he’d wanted it to be Tru on her knees in front of him. But hell, it had been satisfying as fuck to know she’d watched, been turned on and had refused to look away.

Her cheeks flushed at the memory. “To me, she’s your 8 Ball patch. I know that’s not one hundred percent correct because you had it for a long time before that...” She paused. “How long before that?”

“Not answerin’ that.”

“Smart,” she murmured. “Okay, well, that’s the only one I saw so...”

He was trying to hold back a grin, because she was being so sincere, then he pulled away from her and ripped the 8 Ball patch off his cut.

“Wait, you can’t just...”

“Just did.”

“Now what?”

“Have’ta earn it again.”

“Oh, no way you’re putting that on me.”

“Am. No pressure. I’ll just be the only one here without it until then.” He shrugged, making sure to look like a forlorn boy.

“You’re really bad, you know that?”

“Can’t just be figuring that out.” He tossed the patch to Rebel, who pocketed it. “Gotta burn that, not just throw it out.”

“I know the rules,” he told Caspar.

He turned back to Tru. “Hot that you’re jealous.”