Defiance (8 page)

“Silas will take over,” she said quietly.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Later that morning, they watched the sunrise and then he drove further, dropped her in Virginia before heading to his base so he wouldn’t be considered AWOL.

She didn’t ask to stay with him and he hadn’t offered. Maybe he’d been waiting for that the entire time. He’d never come out and said she couldn’t. She’d been the one to tell him she was running up east. So wrapped up in her own goals, she hadn’t bothered learning about his.

She’d taken from him, and he’d given.

He’d made sure she got on Amtrak safely, gave her extra cash that he wouldn’t let her refuse and then watched the train pull away.

She’d had to force herself not to cry for most of the trip, succeeded until she ended up in New Jersey all alone and then pulled her shit together.

She was, after all, a Defiance girl. And those girls were tough.

* * *

Now, Tru shook off the reverie of those all-important nights with Caspar, the life-changing times that started with watching him fight and ended with him taking her out of a party and ultimately, months later, out of Defiance—all those moments shaped who she was today.

You’re tough
,
but you’re sitting here crying because the man you’ve probably loved forever killed to keep you with him.

And she’d been sitting here, waiting for Caspar to come save her.

He’d already done that, a thousand times over. He’d fought for her tonight—killed for her. Chose her over what the MC wanted.

And what have you done for him besides create more trouble for him?

She steeled herself and stood immediately, brushed off the tears and the dirt and with it, the fear.

It was time to stop being a little girl. It was time for her to finally grow up. Caspar had led her halfway there—she had to grab his hand and walk next to him the rest of the way.

Chapter Nine

Lance and Liv were outside the clubhouse, their heads together, and that couldn’t be a good thing, Tru realized. She didn’t try to hide as she walked through, but didn’t look in their direction either.

“Tru.”

Lance spoke her name, didn’t yell it, but there was a command to his tone she couldn’t ignore. The Defiance men in charge all had it. She supposed it was a military thing.

She turned to wait, saw Lance coming toward her and dammit, Liv was following.

“I’ve had men looking for you,” he said.

“I’m okay.”

“I don’t give a shit how you are,” he growled. “You put all of us in jeopardy the day you walked into the Kill Devils.”

“Who knows what kind of information you’d provide for them, given the right motivation,” Liv added.

No one walked on Tru. She was strong. Could wield a weapon, knew how to use her status in Defiance to make sure she was okay with Padraic.

She addressed Lance, ignored Liv. “I’d never betray Defiance to Padraic’s MC.”

“You did that the day you walked out on your father,” Lance told her. “You’re in lockdown to keep my club safe. Don’t care whose bitch you are. I got no trust in that.”

She wanted to tell him she’d given herself to Caspar the night she’d left, reaffirmed it to the crowd tonight. But she didn’t.

As usual, she’d be the source of envy, admiration and scorn—sometimes all three at once. It would always be that way here, where the women were pitted against one another. Encouraged to serve their man, compete for top bitch spot. Liv felt she had it. Now, with Tru back, she was threatened on two fronts.

“I’ll stay on lockdown,” she told Lance quietly, but only because Caspar would no doubt want the same thing. Lance might not care but she
was
Caspar’s bitch.

Lance walked away but Liv stayed behind.

“When you wouldn’t sleep with him in high school, I did,” Liv said and Tru didn’t bother to tell her that Silas lied to both of them. “Silas is my one and only. I’m Trixie’s daughter now.”

“I’m not trying to replace you.”

“What were you hoping to accomplish?”

But Tru didn’t answer to Liv. She only answered to one person, and she already had.

“Why not come back sooner? Because you knew the bastard couldn’t stand up to Big Hugh?” Liv taunted.

“Go home to your man, Liv,” Tru said, turned her back and walked away. She was prepared for Liv to jump her, and the woman had thought about it, judging by Lance’s sharp, “Liv, don’t,” but Tru didn’t look over her shoulder.

There was no one outside the small house she’d been staying in, no man guarding it, and she wondered if that was Lance’s doing or Caspar’s.

Caspar would never put you in danger like that.
But Lance would.

She went inside cautiously, lit a lamp and checked around.

There was a tray of food wrapped up for her.
That
had to be Trixie’s doing. The woman felt that food could solve anything.

As if.

She nibbled a few of the fries, took a bite of the sandwich and then three more. After a few minutes, the throbbing tension headache eased.

She stripped off the leather pants she’d worn, the T-shirt barely brushing the tops of her thighs.

She checked the time even though she didn’t really need to. She was so used to taking the pills that her internal clock wouldn’t let her go past the time.

She had put one in her pocket tonight—just one, just in case. Hadn’t known if she’d get to take it. She put the small pill on her tongue and took a sip of water. It was only then she noticed Caspar, standing in the doorway, watching her.

How long he’d been there, waiting, watching, was anyone’s guess. But she had to believe he never would’ve let her come into an unguarded house. “What’re those?”

“Just medicine I need to take.”

“For what?”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and then pointed between her breasts to where he knew the scar was.

His face got dark with anger, but it was mixed with concern as he demanded, “Do you have enough of those?”

Without waiting for her answer, he had the bottle, was opening and staring in, shifting the pills carefully and mentally counting the doses she had left. He stared between the label and her, shook his head. “Pretty damned important drug, yeah?”

She nodded. Coumadin was a blood thinner she’d need to take for the rest of her life to keep the metal valve that repaired one of her heart’s valves clear.

They both knew Padraic’s gang controlled just about all of the pharmameds that moved through the area. Her chest squeezed when she thought about it, tried not to show Caspar the stark terror that must’ve been on her face when she realized that getting her medication wouldn’t be simple anymore.

“I’ll make sure you don’t run out,” he told her.

How he would do that, she didn’t know.

He put the bottle down after capping it carefully. Took her by the shoulders. “Hear me—I’ll make sure you never run out.”

“Thanks.”

She’d been treated differently, more for who her father was than for her illness. Most of the kids didn’t remember all her time in the hospital.

She’d had several heart surgeries by the time she was six. At ten, she had her final surgery, a valve that could grow with her. She’d spent a lot of time in the hospital and then at home, recovering. Once she was cleared, she was free to run and jump and play. The pills were just a part of her life.

She also learned to fight, as all good Defiance girls did. Her mom worried but Hugh, who’d grown up with the same defect and medication, insisted that’s exactly why she needed to learn to fight—so she didn’t get hurt.

Hugh had been right about a lot of things. She couldn’t deny the importance of strength. “This is what Hugh died of, isn’t it?” she asked.

“He was having heart problems,” Caspar acknowledged.

She’d inherited the condition from Hugh, but his was far worse, and exacerbated by his drinking and general lifestyle. He was a fit man, but he didn’t watch his food intake, and, as he got older, his alcohol consumption. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Fuck, Tru, didn’t know you needed pills. If I had—”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to stay with me because you were worried I couldn’t get my pills,” she told him.

“How the hell did you know you could get them?”

“I made some calls. Spoke to a few doctors in clinics. I found out I could get the generic versions pretty cheaply —and the doctors felt bad for me.”

“Counted on something that was risky as hell—too many variables,” he growled at her. “Guess it wasn’t that simple after all.”

No, it hadn’t been. “I’ve lived with this my entire life. I know how to deal with it.”

“Guess you knew you could trust Paddy.”

“Caspar—”

“S’why Paddy didn’t hurt you worse,” he said, more to himself than her. And that was true—he’d drugged her, but hitting her too hard could’ve caused complications. He’d slapped her, yes, and she’d passed out, but he’d been careful with her condition.

She decided to drop the pill line of questioning but had to ask, “What happens now, to the Kill Devils?”

“You know what happens.”

“Padraic’s brother.”

Padraic’s brother—Kian—was the antithesis of Paddy. The man was tall and slim and imposing with his craggy face and big hands. Despite his pocked skin, he was dynamic. Exuded danger and leadership. She wondered why he’d taken a backseat in the organization for so long. She had an awful feeling that Padraic had been the easier one to deal with. Padraic knew nothing of why she’d initially run from Defiance. But she was pretty sure he suspected.

“You’ve always bucked the club shit. Should’ve been born a boy,” Kian used to tell her. “You usin’ my brother?”

She’d always told him no, lied right to his face.

Kian hadn’t been there last night. She’d looked for him specifically, but she’d recognized all the faces and his hadn’t been among them. He’d know what Caspar did, and why.

She swallowed hard, told Caspar, “You killed Padraic for me.”

“I killed Paddy for me, Tru. Make no mistake about it.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“I would never do that. And now you’re asking me to stay under your protection and have no contact—”

“You did it with Paddy.”

“That was different. I didn’t want to be in Padraic’s bed.” She knew it was a mistake saying that, knew it the second the words flew from her mouth.

“That’s all you want? Bein’ in my bed’s the easiest part of this whole thing, darlin’.”

Caspar was that mountain every woman wanted to climb and conquer. So far, they’d only been able to accomplish the former. Unlike her father, Cas used violence as his shield, to keep everyone at arm’s length. Whatever his myriad of reasons, Tru didn’t think she knew the half of it.

* * *

The anger still flooded through Caspar. He should have known better than to come in here and try to deal with her when he hadn’t come down yet. But he wouldn’t leave her here alone, unguarded, especially not tonight, and he wasn’t ready to bring her underground yet. Not to his place and especially not to his bed.

No lie, sex was the easiest part of the damned equation for him. Caspar had banged enough women to realize the truth in that. Before the Chaos, none of them wanted to be his girlfriend or his old lady, but they did want him to fuck them. In Defiance, it was part badge of honor, part trying to conquer the bad boy. Now, some of them hoped they’d bring him to his knees. A single guy in a well-respected MC—a sergeant at arms, an Enforcer—was a goddamned catch and he planned on running for as long as he could. He’d never seen any need to tie himself down, not when there was enough free sex all around him. Afterward, he could walk away and deal with the shit he needed to.

But with Tru...

You still thought things were fuckin’ different.

He took his cut off, went to toss it on the chair. Tru intercepted, smoothed it and placed it on the foot of her bed.

That made him more pissed off. He yanked off the T-shirt—he could still smell the blood and sweat and fear of the men all over him and he wanted that gone. He stalked into the large bathroom—Trixie used this house for the women and it showed in the pink and white curtains, the frilly shower rug and the various other bath shit women used to look and smell pretty.

He hoped there was a goddamned plain-assed bar of soap in here.

The shower took up half the room, was large enough for several people to be comfortable in, and had a bench inside it. He turned the shower on, let the steam fill the room as he pulled his boots off and stripped out of his jeans. He got in under the spray and let it slam him, pins and needles against his skin. Wanted it like that. His dick was hard and he thought seriously about jerking off, because he knew Tru was there. Felt her eyes on him but he wouldn’t turn around.

Why the fuck you want to scare her?

Get rid of her before she gets rid of you
. Had been his motto from the first.

But the roughness had always been there—would always be there. Rough did it for him, released something inside of him that had stood up and demanded it from when he was a young boy. That was before he could understand what it all meant, why he liked it, why he needed it.

He didn’t bother justifying it any more—he just needed it, and both sex and the MC gave him that.

The MC was violence. No way around it. It was a rough life, but it had saved its members during the Chaos. They were used to rough. To fighting for anything and everything. Nothing in life came easy—nothing worth having—and he’d learned that this way was by far the most satisfying.

He grabbed his cock, gave it a couple of vicious jerks and groaned. Braced one hand on the slippery tile, jacked off with the other and imagined he was inside of Tru. His head was down, the water running over his face and he was barely breathing, just short bursts.

Tru Tennyson had goddamned ruined him for other women, had nearly done so before he’d taken her and after that, she’d been the object of every jerk-off fantasy he’d had. Even when he was fucking other women, which was often, he was thinking about her. The way she smiled, completely unguarded, but only around him. The way her mouth dropped open when he’d played with her nipples.

The way she’d yelled his name when he’d entered her.

She was goddamned perfect. And he’d let her go.

He didn’t want to make that mistake again but he wasn’t Roan, wouldn’t make her a prisoner in Defiance. He didn’t want that shit, wanted her to want him equally as much.

He turned his head now so he could look into her eyes, the way he had years ago at the fight, and he stroked himself. Her eyes were raking his body, like she didn’t know where to look.

She settled on his face and that turned him on more than anything. Before he could stop it, he came with a grunt, come shooting up onto his chest before washing back down his body and away down the drain. He remained in that position for a good few minutes, and, his dick still hard, he finally moved to sit on the bench in the shower while the steam rose up around him. He grabbed a washcloth and leaned forward to wet it.

That’s when Tru said, “Let me,” and took it from his hand.

He should refuse. Tell her it was all her fucking fault in the first place, but he was more pissed at himself. He’d needed her to give him the push, and because of that, he sat and let her wipe him off with a cool cloth.

Her eyes were wide and if he put two fingers to the pulse on her neck, it’d be racing. Her cheeks flushed and it had nothing to do with the heat from the steam.

* * *

Tru washed him down with both hands so he could see them tremble. Watching him in the shower had been incredible.

Now, she took stock of his tattoos, piercings and scars. They all came together in a patina of colors and shadings and textures. Then she rubbed the cloth over them, covering them all with thick soapy suds before grabbing the pitcher, filling it with water and washing him down. She didn’t want him to have to get up, liked being able to do this for him.