Temperance (Defiance #4)

by Stephanie Tyler

  Rebel would never had considered coming out when Lance was alive, but he’d hidden for so long, exposing himself was terrifying, and considering he survived the Chaos, that was saying something.

  It was also ridiculous.

  He’d hoped Declan would cut him a break. But the fucker refused. Kept pushing. “I don’t get it. Bishop doesn’t care—”

  “Bishop’s not Defiance.” When Rebel said that, Declan’s brows raised. “I don’t fucking mean it like that. Of course he’s Defiance, but he didn’t grow up in an MC. Neither did you. How many gay MC guys do you know?”

  Declan thought about that, then began checking them off on his fingers.

  Rebel held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t want to know.”

  “No one since we started.”

  Rebel’s stomach tightened. “What do you want from me?”

  “I think the bigger question’s actually what do you want from me?”

  “Dude, is that a trick question?”

  Declan narrowed his eyes.

  Shit.

  “Go public with me,” Declan challenged.

  “No.”

  Declan shook his head slowly, but he didn’t look surprised. “I know secrets, Rebel. Live them. They save my goddamned life. But yours isn’t…it’s destroying you, slowly. Forcing you to live a lie is one thing the MC’s doing, or you’re doing it to yourself. But not dealing with your past? Fuck, I want to touch you, and not just physically. I want more, Reb. I fucking deserve it. We both do. Go get your shit together. Get in touch with me when you do. Maybe I’ll still be here. Maybe I won’t, but I realize it’s a risk we both have to take.”

  Rebel didn’t say anything except, “Nothing’s going to change. It can’t.”

  He didn’t turn around as he walked out the door, mainly because he didn’t want to see the pain—or worse, the indifference—that could possibly be etched in Declan’s expression.

  Only when Rebel had driven a couple of miles away from Keller’s did he realize how perfectly Declan had played that. Forced his hand, because he’d know Rebel would never be able to go public.

  “He was protecting himself,” Rebel muttered. And breaking me in the process.

  He’d been so deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed several members of the Lords of Vengeance MC lying in wait ahead. Several more LoVs drove up behind him, circling his truck.

  He knew that at best they’d just kill him on the spot. Hell, he considered doing the job himself for a brief second, because the other, more probable path the LoV would take with him would be torture.

  He’d seen evidence of that firsthand.

  For several tense moments, he remained safely inside his truck—they shot the tires out first thing.

  He struggled on the slick roads, but between the large hail, the ice, he was skidding toward the bank of thick trees on the right…and at a damned high rate of speed.

  He passed out on impact, mercifully so, as the LoV shot him at some point while he was unconscious. He was vaguely aware of Bishop hovering over him, and he wanted to warn Bishop that the LoV were around…hiding. But he couldn’t get the words out.

  Everything was blurred from that point on. He only vaguely recalled being dragged roughly from his truck, but that was a small consolation when he did wake up in screaming pain in the trunk of an LoV car.

  Although he refused to scream. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Hell, the only reason he’d come to was because they’d thrown Bishop in there, half on top of him, before they closed the trunk, covering them in total darkness.

  Rebel was all too willing to let it wash over him once again.

  *

  Declan escaped the main area of Keller’s office, leaving Luna, Kammy and Zara behind so he could think for a fucking few uninterrupted seconds. He paced silently in the chamber where he knew Keller often did the same, worried about everything under the sun (when there was sun)…and now, Declan was facing the possibility that in a single evening, the three men he counted on the most were gone.

  Rebel.

  Bishop.

  Keller.

  Gone. MIA.

  Could they all be wiped out? Could the powers that be actually be that fucking sadistic?

  All he had to do was look around at the near-constant night sky to get his answer.

  The storm started up in earnest about half an hour after Declan fought with Rebel. Bishop had gone into the blinding rain and wind in order to look for Rebel, and Declan stayed behind with Luna. Because Declan had responsibilities to Keller and to the compound that was his home. But the worse the storm got, the more the tube felt like that goddamned coffin, and Declan spent most of the storm trying to evade a goddamned panic attack.

  When the storm had finally ended several hours before, he and Luna had walked from his tube to Keller’s offices…discovering the horror of the mass destruction all around them. It was more from the LoV’s massacre of innocent people who lived on the compound, rather than Mother Nature’s fury, and there were bodies strewn all over the compound under the blazing sun.

  Of all the times for the sun to come out on its own, with no help from the government satellite…the images of the bodies tossed around like rag dolls was burned on his brain.

  And he knew then that there was no way the LoV—even coupled with Fletcher’s mafia—was in on this alone.

  Luna had, of course, asked, “Declan, who did this?”

  Even before he’d get confirmation—and Declan knew that at some point he would—he had no doubt who’d masterminded this massacre.

  And they’d been here, on Keller property. Close enough to reach out and touch Declan…again.

  He’d rubbed the scar on his hip through his jeans as it started to tingle. The N cut into his skin was tattooed over, but it stung worse than the others. Especially at times like this—it was as if that was a direct connection to the men who’d carved it into his skin…the men who’d murdered Keller’s people.

  Now, he looked into Luna’s eyes, and he lied. “It was the LoV and Fletcher.”

  “I didn’t know they were capable of that,” she said softly. “I thought nothing could surprise me anymore.”

  He’d sent Keller’s guards out to assess those who made it down to the tubes in time, checking for anyone who might’ve lived through the massacre…and disposing of the bodies before disease spread. Irony of ironies that the sun not only exposed the massacre, but made it necessary to bury—and possibly burn—the bodies quickly.

  “Declan, Siobhan is here,” Kammy called through the door. She never barged in on Keller, and she offered Declan the same respect.

  He strode over, opening the heavy door and ushering Siobhan in. “I won’t be long,” he promised Kammy, whose pretty face was drawn with worry over Keller.

  When he shut the door, he was almost afraid to turn and look at Siobhan—he’d avoided meeting her eyes when she came in but now it would be inevitable.

  Finally, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and faced her.

  When she’d first come to live on the compound, she’d been a mere teenager—all of thirteen. Now, she was twenty, all grown up, with auburn hair and dark eyes that bore into his.

  “He’s alive,” she told him immediately. “All three are.”

  “You’re sure?” Declan asked, not wanting to say any of the names of the men he worried about, not Rebel or Bishop or Keller. But Siobhan would know. And the knowing had to be a burden, but right now he was too damned grateful to dwell on her pain.

  “He’d come back here immediately.” She lowered her voice as she spoke of Keller, adding, “He built this,” for emphasis. “There are a lot of dead here, but he’s not one of them. Neither are the others you’re worried about. Especially the one you—” She stopped then, like she realized she was getting too intimate, too involved.

  Hell, how much more involved could she be?

  And Declan believed her, as he always did.

  At that moment, there was a
knock on the door, Kammy calling through the closed door that a ransom demand had just come in via SAT phone.

  Less than twenty-four hours later, Rebel, Bishop and Keller were riding in his truck on the way back from the LoV’s compound. All three were hurt, although Keller far less than the other two. Rebel and Bishop bore the brunt of it—Bishop, forced to box his way through the LoVs three at a time, and Rebel, with his injuries from the car crash, plus a bullet wound and contusions from being beaten and dragged.

  Declan’s heart had nearly seized at seeing Rebel like that. It took everything he had not to go to him immediately, to help him.

  But Mathias and Luna were there. Instead, Declan helped Keller, who clapped a hand on his shoulder, and grabbed for him with the other, like he was about to fall and needed bracing…and at that point, he slid a folded square of paper into Declan’s hand that Declan would later open, then burn, watching the letter N slowly crumple in the fire.

  *

  Once they were all settled back in Keller’s office, assessing the damage, dealing with Defiance and their anger, Declan found himself agreeing to live at what was to be the new Defiance compound. Caspar promised the MC would speed up the move, bringing the time down to approximately three months as opposed to the originally proposed six.

  He’d thought Rebel had been passed out when Declan was being discussed like a commodity to be traded from compound to compound, a bargaining chip so neither side could hurt the other without the threat of their own being harmed.

  He’d been wrong, because later, after he helped Luna get both Bishop and Rebel over to their tube, he settled Rebel in—Keller had a bed moved into the living area for Rebel. Luna shut the door to the bedroom after a long glance at Declan, knowing he and Rebel had things to discuss.

  He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or pissed at that. But now definitely wasn’t the time—not after they’d be forced together soon enough.

  Beyond that, nothing had changed. Nothing—and everything. Declan knew Rebel wasn’t ready to deal with any of it—he hated it, even as he accepted it time after time. Because there wasn’t anything he could do to change it.

  Until he’d forced Rebel to make his decision and leave.

  “I want more, Reb. I fucking deserve it. We both do. Go get your shit together. Get in touch with me when you do. Maybe I’ll still be here. Maybe I won’t, but I realize it’s a risk we both have to take.”

  Now, the consequence of Declan’s actions was right in front of him, bloodied and bruised, and he’d carry this guilt for a hell of a long time.

  As he went to remove Rebel’s heavy boots, easing them off carefully, Rebel glanced at him. “This can’t work.”

  He wasn’t talking about boots—that much, Declan knew. But he had no idea if Rebel meant the truce between Defiance and Keller’s. Wanted to think he did, but fuck, he was still so raw from the fight…the break-up.

  From falling the fuck in love.

  “Not gonna work,” Rebel repeated, his tone stubborn.

  “You staying here tonight?” Declan asked innocently.

  “You. Me. Defiance.”

  When Declan had agreed earlier to go to Defiance, Rebel had been there, albeit in a narcotic haze. Obviously, not enough of one. “It’s done.”

  “Shouldn’t be. We don’t mix.”

  “We could, Reb.”

  “You pushed me away,” Rebel pointed out.

  “Just shut up and heal, okay? Christ—you don’t have the goddamned sense to pull over in a storm?”

  Rebel gazed at him. “The LoV ran me off the road, fucker.” He didn’t add, “After you pushed me away,” but they were both thinking it.

  “We broke up,” Declan told him irritably.

  “You said we were never really together.”

  Declan didn’t remind him that he’d added that they weren’t really together if Rebel hadn’t been able to acknowledge it to himself. “You need more pain meds?”

  “Fuck no.” Rebel tried to sit up and pain tore visibly through his body.

  “Dammit, Reb. Don’t always have to be strong,” Declan admonished.

  “Right. I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Asshole,” Declan muttered, pressing the pain pills into Rebel’s mouth, forcing him to drink some water to chase them down.

  “Same to you,” Rebel shot back after he’d swallowed. “Fucking horse pills—disorient the fuck out of me. Didn’t want them.”

  “But you needed them—that’s more important than what you want.”

  Rebel gazed up at him, silent acknowledgement that they weren’t really talking about the pills. They continued the silent staring contest, Declan’s hands fisted at his side…until the narcotics finally did their job, leaving Rebel sleeping—if not exactly peacefully, at least his face wasn’t drawn tight from pain.

  Hesitantly, Declan reached out, his first touch a light, tentative one to brush along Rebel’s cheek. When Rebel didn’t move, or flinch or grasp Declan’s wrist, he got bolder, the way he’d never been able to. Not for longer than a few seconds before Rebel was holding him down.

  As much as Declan liked—loved—that, he wanted the intimacy of touching Rebel whenever he felt like it.

  And you had to wait till he’s passed out in pain to do it, he chided himself as he stroked a hand along Rebel’s thick, dark hair, traced a strong shoulder, the rose tattoo…then moved back up to run his knuckles lightly over the bruises, evidence of the beating he’d taken, the accident. The things Declan could’ve prevented, at least this time, if he hadn’t forced Rebel to do the inevitable.

  Any guilt about touching Rebel when he was passed out was quickly usurped by the guilt of that. And so he continued to stroke Rebel, because fuck it, he’d take it any way he could get it.

  Chapter Two

  Three months after falling asleep staring at Declan, Rebel was sitting in the Defiance clubhouse when Caspar announced, “Table meeting in an hour.” As the president of the Defiance MC, he could call meetings anytime he wanted to. Rebel knew why he was calling this one now, wasn’t surprised when Caspar added, “Declan’s coming in tonight.”

  Like Rebel needed reminding. Like he hadn’t thought about Declan most of the goddamned time he’d been separated from him, like he didn’t dream about the guy…

  All he could do was say, “Right,” and nod numbly, like it wasn’t the biggest fucking deal in the world, like his entire body hadn’t jumped when he heard Declan’s name. “Is he coming with a Keller escort?”

  “Keller says he’s coming alone,” Caspar told him, sneering at the mention of the man who was the head of a mafia, in charge of the food and emergency supplies for Defiance. Currently, Keller and Defiance had remained in an uneasy truce, with enough suspicion on either end to necessitate having a man from each compound stay at the other’s.

  Rebel had hoped Keller and Caspar would change their minds about that, but neither leader had. So Keller still had Bishop, and Defiance was getting Declan. It’d taken a few months for Defiance’s new compound to be completely ready for the MC’s actual move, as well as getting it up to Keller’s standards. He wanted security in place before he allowed Declan to move there—and Caspar couldn’t argue, since Bishop and Luna were in a secured location…save for the LoV massacre.

  But that was a touchy-enough subject without Caspar poking at the wound, and Rebel thought it wise that the MC’s president left it alone.

  “Should be an interesting meeting,” Rebel mused.

  “Yeah. Had to agree to let Declan sit in on church. Not tonight’s, though.” Caspar gave a grim smile, the scar that bisected his cheek forming an odd angle.

  Church was the most protected of all the MC’s meetings. “You did the right thing, Caspar.” The only thing. Survival post-Chaos wasn’t easy for anyone, but Defiance had survived and thrived over the last years. The underground tubing system they’d created was in high demand, and Keller promised to help them with distribution.

  In return, Keller w
ould stop fucking threatening to exterminate Defiance. Thus, the uneasy part of the ‘uneasy truce.’

  “I know,” was Caspar’s answer. “Can’t be too careful.”

  “Right,” he managed, even though careful hadn’t been a part of his vocabulary for the past year.

  “We’ll get through it, Reb.” With a slap on his shoulder, Caspar left him sitting outside the clubhouse, soaking up the last of the government-created sunlight. For a while post-Chaos, that had been the only sunlight available, but lately, the sun was breaking through the layers of volcanic ash and debris that’d clogged the atmosphere after the most severe series of storms they’d ever seen rocked the earth.

  Rebel didn’t care where he got his sunlight from—like the rest of the compound, he’d stripped down to practically nothing, letting his body enjoy the heat and warmth of the sun.

  It’d been hard for him to feel much of anything since he’d last seen Declan. It was all rolled up together in a big ball of guilt on Declan’s end, Rebel knew. And during his recovery, Declan had been there with him and for him, but not “with” him or “for” him. Both of them had fucked it up.

  Except it was a little higher on the fucked up side in Rebel’s column. Because there were only three people who knew Rebel was gay, and two of them were staying at Keller’s compound—Bishop and Rebel’s best friend, Luna—and, of course, Declan.

  He didn’t remember much about that last night with Declan at Keller’s, because he’d been drugged up, in the main part of Keller’s suite with a dozen other people, including Caspar. Still, Declan had hovered. Rebel didn’t think anyone really noticed, because the man moved like a ghost…and as much as Rebel wanted to remind him that they were broken up, he didn’t.

  Couldn’t.

  Maybe, he reasoned, it would’ve been easier if Declan wasn’t going to be living on the new Defiance compound with him. Well, not with him, but fuck, close enough, and now that Luna and Bishop were solidly together, Rebel was definitely under pressure.

  Normally, he’d head over to Kat’s house, hook up with random women who worked and lived there to cover, but with Declan right here, that wasn’t going to fly.