Redemption (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

Headstrong, I’ll take on anyone

Mathias

We left Defiance for the open field where the illegal fight ring would gather. We didn’t have to wait for nighttime—because what the hell was the difference—but old habits persisted. I blasted the usual Metallica and Bish let it go this time. I played it before a fight so I could relax and get my head in the game. And since I could still smell Jessa on me, that wasn’t going to be easy.

We fought outside the Defiance compound because the arenas were bigger and the money better. Defiance fights were fun, but fights in the surrounding towns...those were blood sport. Underground rings tied to crime syndicates and gangs—the MCs were the outsiders there but there were plenty of AWOL military around looking to pull down some serious cash.

We let Caspar know our comings and goings out of respect. Plus, Keller’s guys were sniffing around the compound and we didn’t want to leave unless Caspar had his whole force here. Once we were gone, there were low-grade CB frequencies we made use of to check in with Defiance, but that was only good if we were in the van.

Now, we parked away from the other cars and bikes. Once we got close to the field, we walked side by side with the crowds of maybe a hundred men heading out toward the open field where more had already gathered. Much like illegal rodeos and the like, these were up fast, paid cash on sight and disappeared without a trace when the law came around.

These days, the law was too chickenshit to come around, but the danger and the money made the risk substantially higher than before. We hadn’t been well known when we were enlisted because we traveled a lot. Now, we’d hung around the area long enough to garner interest.

“I don’t like that,” Bish told me now and I had to agree. Better to be a ghost in this world than well known, but I supposed that our being known was inevitable once we’d showed up at the Defiance gates.

The fact that people knew us meant more money, more problems.

We had rules—we never fought on the same night. Tonight was my turn and I had a lot of anger to bleed off, which is why Bish spent the ride here trying to talk me out of fighting.

I knew he was right, that it was never good to fight when you were angry, but I refused to listen. Being stubborn as fuck was a skill I cultivated long and hard and Bish knew it. I wasn’t sure why he still bothered to fight it, except for the fact that that’s what brothers and best friends did.

“Look who’s here—double trouble,” Randy drawled.

“Got nothing more original?” Bish asked the man who ran these events in the field. He had tables set up where men would check in and, later, where they’d get paid. There were food trucks but no alcohol allowed here, because the fighting got rough enough without adding that to the mix. And there were no women, because all this testosterone and women wasn’t a great mix. Thankfully, Randy saw it that way, even though I’m sure there were many who disagreed with him.

“Don’t go insulting the man who pays you,” Randy told him.

What’s the word?

Randy leaned in after Bish translated my question. “Keller’s out for blood—so’s the LoV. Word is, both have missing men.”

“What happened?” Bish asked and Randy shrugged, said, “Fuck if I know. But if they haven’t been seen or heard from in two days, betting they’re not living.”

Well, that was a fact. I signed in and Bish continued our walk over toward the spotlighted ring where I’d be fighting for the next several hours. We wouldn’t talk about what Randy said until we were in the safety of the van. But the whole thing still made me uneasy. No one had made us—if they had, Keller and the LoV didn’t have the patience for a drawn-out vengeance.

No, they didn’t know who’d taken out their men but it’s not like there were a lot of guys in the area who could do that.

LoV
, Bish signed discreetly and I glanced into the ring. Sometimes, fate had a funny way of reminding you what was to come. So I’d fight the LoV guy in the ring, and I’d win, and then we’d get out of here before anyone questioned us.

Because, as we moved along in the crowd, we heard murmurings of various other guys being questioned by both Keller and the LoV. We’d known it was only a matter of time before someone grabbed me and Bish, but we hadn’t had to talk about it to know what story we’d use.

“Where were you two yesterday morning?” the second in command of the LoV asked roughly when we got within a foot of the ring. He was too damned close to me and I slammed my hands out to push him back. He stumbled and came toward me. I bared my teeth and Bish growled and that stopped him.

“We don’t answer to you,” Bish said calmly. “We answer to Caspar.”

Now move the fuck out of my way so I can beat the shit out of your boy
, I signed, Bish translated and the LoV fisted his hands by his sides. His kind was used to getting answers—the fact that we wouldn’t give them would show that we didn’t lie about things. In the most ironic way possible, it would help our future credibility.

I climbed into the low ring that was nothing more than a couple of mats and ropes to keep others from joining in the fight too easily. Men tended to get riled up during these events.

The guy across from me was probably my age, but he was missing a couple of teeth and he was bigger. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

I wanted to be with Jessa.

The fight started as a blur of a thump of gloves, a whistle and audience yells. After I got punched in the face, narrowly avoided an elbow to the throat, I got my head out of my ass and my thoughts off Jessa and on the man in front of me. Which meant he was fucked.

These were blood fights, which meant the more bloodshed, the higher the amount of money we got.

Blood dripped from a cut above my eye. I brushed it away impatiently and charged my competitor with my head down like a bull, knocking him flat on his back. I kept punching, mainly because the LoV’s face flashed in front of my eyes and I thought about how good it would be to erase all those assholes completely.

Bish pulled me off—it was the only reason I didn’t resist. These weren’t fights to the death and I’d come close with this one. It was why, more often than not, I ended up with a ton of cash in my pocket. I was breathing hard, more from the adrenaline coursing through me than anything, and when I looked around, the crowds were a blur.

“You did it, Mathias. You’re good,” Bish said to me quietly. It took me a good five minutes to come down, to calm down, but when I did, the world returned to its normal, clear balance.

The fights were happening in earnest around us, with five smaller rings surrounding the large one I’d fought in. There were cheers and boos, and the smell of the fight was unmistakable.

We were just getting ready to head out and collect our money when Randy approached us.

“Hey, Bish, we’ve got an opening,” Randy told him, and pointed to one of the empty outer rings.

Bish froze. It was only for a split second, but I didn’t miss it. The guy he’d be fighting was a big Indian, and he looked a hell of a lot like Bish’s father.

Too many memories.

No.
If I could sign loudly, that would’ve counted.

“I want to,” Bish told me.

Then roll the dice.

Bish glared at me, then took them out of his pocket. We did this sometimes, the casting of lots. It signified that nothing was random and that the lots, the dice, whatever the tell might be, reveal the true will of the universe.

The dice came back with a three.
My
birth month.

“Bastard,” Bish grunted, but I knew he was grateful. I looked at the big Indian and wondered if life just continued to repeat itself until you learned something. But what else was there for me to learn? I had no regrets that I’d killed Bish’s dad when I was twelve. I’d done it so my dad wouldn’t have to, but most importantly, so
Bish
wouldn’t have to.

Most of all, I did it to save my best friend. My brother. Because he would’ve done it—there was enough rage in his eyes that day that I knew it would happen.

Which is one reason why I fight now. I fight for redemption—redemption for my anger, redemption for everything. Even though I’m not sure I believe in Heaven, I do believe in souls, and mine has a black mark. A black mark for a damned good reason, but I’ve played judge, jury and executioner for someone.

Sometimes, I felt like I was put here to avenge. Look, I was named after the apostle who took Judas the traitor’s place—and that Mathias beat out a guy named Justus, so I find that really telling.

So when they say I have no conscience, they’re right. Not when it comes to killing someone who deserves it.

Someone like Bish’s dad. I fight because he fought his whole life. Because, even though he lived with us, for all intents and purposes, he had to go home to his father at times, so CPS and SS and the rest wouldn’t go postal on him or my family.

My family hadn’t cared about that, but Bish had. And every time he went back there, he’d fought for his life. So that’s also why I fight now. So he doesn’t have to ever again, unless he wants to.

I took the Indian down easily and Bish and I called it a night. I let him drive home.

“You only let me when you’re worried about me,” Bish pointed out.

Am I wrong?

Bish shrugged. “M’okay now.”

I let him pick the music—this time, it was Cypress Hill’s “Rise Up,” and I knew it was one of his favorites because it was released right before the Chaos. It fit my mood, serving to mellow me out despite the driving beat, because I was slightly punch-drunk and sleepy from the night before, and I found myself talking nonsense to Bish, because I could. Talking about Jessa and the night before and then I signed,
What if this is only her trying to live out some fantasy?

“What, like girls gone wild, Chaos style?”

Stranger things have happened.
She’s like...American royalty
,
for Christ’s sake.

“And she slept with you willingly.”

I
feel like
...

I couldn’t finish. But with Bish, I didn’t have to.

“Like she can fix everything for you,” Bish said quietly. He wasn’t making fun of me. “That’s cool, Mathias. The way it should be.”

No woman would ever come between us—we were too close for that.
You like her?

“I’ll like her just fine if she makes you happy.” Bish paused. “But you’re worried.”

Too many unknowns.

“Sometimes, that’s the best way to live life.”

Chapter Twelve

Young Americans

Jessa

Tru told me I could stay in the guesthouse we’d hung out in. She said she’d stayed there when she first came back to Defiance, and that it seemed to be a place of good luck. The guesthouse was clean and had lots of candles. And I could see out the windows, thanks to the generator’s lights around the compound.

I’d played the Bad Company tape of Mathias’s—the one that had played during the storm—what seemed like a million times over, waiting for him to come find me. Tru had assured me he would.

Several hours later, he did, sometime after 3 a.m., coming into the guesthouse behind Bishop. Bishop had a neutral expression on his face and Mathias looked like he’d gone ten rounds with the LoV, but he was smiling a little.

“What happened?” I asked. Mathias signed, and as I watched him, Bish translated.

I
fought.

“Who?”

No one you know
, he assured me.

“Were you jumped?”

No.
Fought on purpose.
He stopped signing, sank into one of the kitchen chairs with a slight groan. I pulled up a chair across from him and the first thing I did was take his wrists gently in my hands and looked at them. And he let me. His knuckles were red and swollen and his right hand was worse than his left, but they were both pretty bad, and I brought each one to my mouth and kissed them, without thinking.

When I met his eyes, I nearly melted. I’d been hoping that last night hadn’t been a one-off, a storm-induced moment of madness. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know.

“I never believed in fate, not until last night,” I told him.

He signed with one hand and Bishop translated,
I
always did.
Guess we even each other out
, and then Bishop said, “He’s gotta ice his hands.”

I let them go and Mathias put them on his thighs. Bishop laid the ice bags on them and looked to me to balance them there. Mathias hissed in discomfort but he kept his hands under the towels of ice.

His face bore some cuts and bruises, but I think his hands had taken the brunt of the fight. It was obvious they’d been gloved, but it was also obvious how hard he’d hit.

“Why was he alone?” I asked Bishop.

“Because two against one in the ring doesn’t work.”

The ring? “This was on purpose?”

Mathias nodded.

“Did you win?” I asked and he raised a brow and gave me that cocky
what the hell do you think?
look. “Why do you fight?”

He looked up at Bish, who told me, “Because he likes it. Because we like it. Because we get paid.”

“You like getting hurt?”

Mathias slid a hand out from mine and Bishop translated as he signed,
Stress release
,

“Sex is easier,” I told Mathias and both men snorted.

“Not if you’re doing it right,” Bishop said at the same time Mathias’s hands flew. Then they were quiet. Bishop carefully put Steri-Strip bandages on the cut above Mathias’s eye. He put another couple on his lip and antibiotic cream on a few other cuts. “Shirt off.”

Mathias glanced between me and Bishop and then pulled his hand from the ice and stripped his T-shirt off and tossed it onto a free chair. I gasped involuntarily, because even after fighting all those men the other day, Mathias’s body hadn’t born these bruises.

He mouthed,
For show.

“You’re not hurt?”

He shrugged.
I’ve had much worse.

“In the military?” I asked, and when he nodded, I continued, “Tru said you haven’t decided it you’re joining this MC or not.”

We’ve been invited to become part of this MC
, Bishop said in time with Mathias’s hands.
We’ve been here four months—trying to decide if we’re staying for good.

“That’s what you’d have to do if you became part of Defiance—stay for good?”

Mathias nodded, his hands telling the rest of the story. About how he and Bishop came into town and helped Caspar out. How the MC lifestyle suited them, especially with their military background.

We like it here
, Bishop translated.
But it doesn’t feel like home.

There was a pause, then Bishop added, “Not yet,” and he was saying it to Mathias, not translating.

I had a feeling there wasn’t much these two didn’t agree on (intrinsically) but this was one of them. But they both agreed that they didn’t know if they could stay in one place for a long time, and that’s what Defiance would require them to do.

I must’ve paled or looked sick, because Mathias moved closer to me and Bishop got me water to drink.

“Sorry. I’m a little run-down,” I lied, refusing to admit that the thought of Mathias leaving filled me with dread, and not simply because he’d saved me. Because I was sure that what they’d done by saving me was going to force some kind of decision... If Defiance was going to stand behind me, Mathias and Bishop would no doubt have to agree to become a part of the MC. It seemed only logical.

Talk to me
,
Jessa.

“I guess I don’t understand it here at all. I guess I don’t understand a lot of things,” I said, and maybe I was having a little bit of a pity party, but I really felt out of it. “I feel like the entire world has been doing things I’ve never done.”

Now you have a chance to do them
, Mathias offered.

“It just seems like an odd time,” I said lamely. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Mathias so instead I glanced at Bishop. I’d noted earlier that he was tall, blond and lanky, but now I noticed that his features were sharp and aquiline. There was no denying he was handsome but there was an edge to him, one that was slightly more sinister than mere bad boy.

His eyes were a deep blue, ringed with black. And, like Mathias, he was quiet, but more so, even though he could speak. I felt like, even if he wanted to make noise, he wouldn’t. Every movement was deliberately measured and he was careful around me. He was almost as protective as Mathias.

He was protective of Mathias too, but in an entirely different way. Watching them together, they were, at times, two opposite sides of the coin and entirely the same person all at once. They could finish each other’s sentences, but they didn’t have to talk—or sign—to communicate.

Mathias did talk a lot with him, though. And most of the time, Bishop wasn’t looking at him but he knew what Mathias was saying anyway.

“How long have you been friends?” I asked both of them.

Mathias signed as Bishop said,
We were eight when we met.

No wonder there was such a bond between them. “I, ah...”

“She wants to talk about you,” Bishop told Mathias, who signed and Bishop translated. “You can ask about me. He knows what I wouldn’t say.”

The level of trust between these two guys was incredible. I felt as though I’d become as close to Bishop as I was to Mathias. It was imperative. It was exactly what I’d wanted, too.

Put your hurt on me, if you dare

Mathias

Jessa didn’t understand what made me tick. Or maybe she didn’t really want to know as much as she wanted me not to tick that way, and that was frustrating enough. Understandable, but frustrating.

Because everyone always thinks they know better. People are all about twenty-twenty hindsight and second-guessing everyone else’s shit instead of worrying about their own shit. That’s what makes them so easy to sneak up on.

Me, I worried about my own shit. And Bish’s, of course, because he was like the other half of me, my brother from another mother, like our neighbors from the bayou used to say, back when Bish and I lived in the bayou parish and life was normal.

Or something like it. But that was way before the Chaos.

As I rolled through all that in my mind, my frustration no doubt obvious, Jessa was watching me intently.

You okay?
I signed and Bish asked her.

“I want to be able to talk to you.”

Sweetheart
,
last night you definitely talked.

She kept a steady gaze on me and when Bish didn’t interpret that she said, “You just said something sarcastic about last night.”

I cocked a brow, wondered how the hell she’d read me when I’d spent a lifetime perfecting the poker face.

“Does it bother you that you can’t speak?”

Not as much as it bothers everyone else.
I shrugged.
Always been this way.
Always gonna be this way.
My cross to bear.

“Do you ever not just accept things?”

All the time
,
honey.
I’m no saint.
Quicker you learn that
,
the better.

“I knew that the second I met you.” She paused. “I thought this would be weird for me—this translating thing, but it’s not. Is it weird for you?”

She motioned between me and Bish who answered, “No,” at the same time as I signed it.

It wasn’t, not even with Bish revealing my deepest feelings to Jessa through him. He’d know them anyway.
My words have always come out of Bish’s mouth.
It’s natural for me.

“I think you like it like that. You can keep people at arm’s length.”

I
think you don’t know shit about me.

“I think you’re wrong,” Bish told me and I ignored him.

Jessa continued, “At least I know you’re capable of getting close to someone.”

“She’s talking about me,” Bish said.

I
know that.

“He says he knew that,” Bish told her.

“I knew that,” she told me, and I realized how much she did know. And that suddenly scared me more than anything had since the goddamned Chaos.

Carry on

Jessa

Mathias got up then, pointing that he was going to shower.

“Oh no, you don’t get to just walk away from me,” I told him.

He signed and Bishop translated.
Yeah
,
I
can.
And I am.

I followed Mathias into the bathroom, vaguely aware that Bishop was following along, and found Mathias already stripped down. I paused to stare at him and he smirked and stepped into the shower. “You can’t expect me to make decisions about what I want to do when you’re insinuating you’ll always keep me at arm’s length.”

You’re moving fast.

“Just like you did the other night, right? You told me that when things were right, you just knew. Why the change now? Or was that all bullshit?”

If it was
,
I
wouldn’t be here
, he pointed out.
Thing is
,
you don’t know what the hell you want either.
So what’s all of this?
Are you playing house
,
Jessa?
Playing pretend
,
like you wanted to the other night?
Because that shit’s only going to work for so long.

“I don’t want pretend. I want this to be real.”

Why?

“Because if it’s not real, then it means you’re not real. Then it means this, between us, isn’t real. And in the real world, everyone would tell me that this was some kind of ridiculous fantasy.”

Can’t think of anything more real than this world.
Then he tugged me, fully clothed, into the shower. He hitched me close to his body, kissing me under the warm spray as he tugged down my sweatpants. My T-shirt was molded over my breasts and he leaned in and bit me on the other side of the neck.

Marking me.

Claiming me.

I thought about what Tru said and I shivered. I don’t care what she said—Mathias was just as possessive as the bikers she’d talked about.

Bishop called out, “I’m guessing you don’t need me for this part, although I’d have no problem watching.”

Mathias shot him a sign I had no problem interpreting and the door to the bathroom closed, giving us privacy.

I swallowed hard and asked, “You said you liked things rough. Does that mean...sex?”

He nodded. He’d been pretty gentle the other night but there were hints of roughness there. He hadn’t held me down or anything but because of the circumstances, it had been right. Now, he had my body craving something more. I was angry—at him and at myself—and there were still things I didn’t understand. And I needed him to mark my body and make me understand them.

“Please,” was all I said, hoping I could somehow convey all of that into a single word. Since he was a man of few, he seemed to appreciate the brevity. Mouthed,
okay
, and I asked, “So what are you waiting for?”

He looked me up and down, like he was wondering if I could handle it.

“You’re different after you fight. You need different things,” I said and he nodded. “You’re worried I can’t handle it. But just because I’ve been sheltered doesn’t mean I’m not tough. I just haven’t had a chance to prove it.”

He signed something then, mouthed it too, and I didn’t catch it, but I had a feeling it was along the lines of,
You’re about to get that chance.

He picked me up then and pushed me against the wall, held my hands up above my head and watched the water pour over my T-shirt, until my nipples stood out like I’d won a wet T-shirt contest. Then he leaned forward and sucked on them, through the wet cotton, hard enough for a jolt of unexpected pleasure to shoot through me. I swear, I almost came from those hard sucks. And he knew it too.

This was a discovery for me, but it was still Mathias, still coming back to him. I knew he’d protect me, and knowing that fanned my desire. “Keep going. I’m all in.”

He knew it too, because he flirted, even as he commanded my body to respond, with his mouth...his hands...

Yes, I could take it. I deserved nothing else.

He turned me then, so we faced the floor-to-ceiling mirror across from the shower. My back was to his chest and I almost couldn’t look, because it was all so hot and explicit, but I forced myself to.