Temperance (Defiance #4)

by Stephanie Tyler

  Rebel hadn’t seen or spoken with Declan. Through phone calls with Bishop and Luna—God, he missed his best friend, but he was glad she was happy—he’d learned that Declan was all right, that he was resigned to coming to the new Defiance compound once they’d settled in. That had taken a little longer than expected, but it was no easy feat moving an entire MC compound and underground tubing process in secret.

  But they’d managed it. Now, there were two Defiance compounds, both of them functioning, but the original compound did not house any of the tubing work any longer. It was simply a functioning compound for families who didn’t want to make the trip. Caspar left one of the senior members in charge, and enough younger members to help.

  It never hurt to have another safe place on the road. If nothing else, Rebel did know he was ultimately safe with Declan. Whether or not the rest of Defiance believed it remained to be seen.

  *

  Rebel had been right to dread this table meeting. No Defiance members were exactly thrilled about getting into bed with Keller, even though the MC understood that banding together with the head of an Irish mafia clan to eliminate the newest threats was the smart thing to do.

  Those people who merely understood hadn’t been at Keller’s compound the morning after the massacre that their rival MC—the LoVs—had carried out. They hadn’t seen the horror of bodies strewn everywhere in the sunlight. And then hadn’t endured hours of painful torture at the hands of the LoV, the way Rebel had that same night of the massacre.

  Most of the men at the table—there were ten of them altogether, including Caspar and Rebel—were treading lightly, because they knew what Rebel had been through, what he’d seen…and they knew he was firmly on Caspar’s side.

  Well, most of them were treading lightly. “So this Declan guy—a Keller assassin—is going to sit at this table.” Goose repeated what Caspar had told them. “And what fuckin’ genius agreed to that shit?”

  Goose was an old-timer. He’d been good friends with Rebel’s dad, and with Lance too, who’d been the president both before and immediately following the Chaos…until a year and a half ago, when Caspar killed him and took over the helm. With so many of the older gen gone, and the ones left firmly on Lance’s side, Caspar still made sure to listen to them, respect their opinions, even if they disagreed.

  Even if they were the biggest assholes on the planet.

  “Not happy with this shit either,” Caspar reiterated. “Not on any goddamned level. But Bishop trusts Declan—with his fucking life. So that’s good enough for me.”

  “Bishop ain’t Defiance,” Goose pointed out.

  “There were circumstances,” Caspar reminded him. “Guy’s gone over and above for Defiance.”

  “And in doing so, he got into bed with Keller.” That was Jeb. When Caspar glared at him, asking, “You got proof?” all Jeb did was hold up his hands and say, “Just a theory, boss. Have to admit it’s not that farfetched.”

  “Not admitting shit,” Caspar spat.

  Rebel couldn’t help but jump in then. “So what, Luna’s in on it too? She’s a legacy.”

  “She’s a woman.” Goose pointed out the obvious.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, I know the outside world looks like the dark ages, but I figured our thinking had gotten better. At least more enlightened. Luna’s a legacy. Tru’s one too. Luna would never betray Defiance. Bishop wouldn’t either—and his brother’s now Defiance,” Rebel said, then glanced at Caspar, who nodded.

  “Luna left for cock,” Goose said easily. “Women can’t be trusted.”

  Rebel stood, but Caspar put his hand out, motioned for Rebel to stand down.

  Mathias, who was at the table now, sat with his fists balled, his body tight, like he was ready to leap across the table. He’d told Rebel earlier that he’d been a hell of a lot happier before he’d gotten a spot at the table. But he was here for outside perspective. And because he had a direct ear to Bishop.

  “I’m tellin’ you all—blood will be spilled before this is over,” Goose warned.

  Caspar gave an icy grin. “Change always comes with spilled blood. I’ve been here a long time. Paid my dues in blood, many times over. I knew the old rules and I made some new ones. The whole fucking world changed. We’ll be dead if we don’t. We deserve everything we get if we don’t adapt.”

  “Adapting is different than accepting what you want us to,” Goose told him.

  “What’s that, Goose?” Rebel asked, his voice a deadly combination of anger and calm that vibrated through him. He was well aware that speaking now was like balancing on the tip of the knife’s blade. There was no way to escape unscathed.

  For once, he welcomed the pain.

  “You want to get into it, we will,” Goose threatened.

  But Caspar was across the table, his hand cupped around Goose’s throat in seconds. “It’s not your call, brother.” Goose put his hands in the air and Caspar released his grip. Then their leader straightened and looked Rebel in the eye. “It’s done. We’re here. We need Keller and he needs us. That’s balance,” Caspar said firmly. “We take down Fletcher, we’re set. And we’re close enough to Keller to shut down any crap.”

  “What if…”

  Caspar turned to Hammer, even as he stopped talking. “Speak freely.”

  Hammer frowned. “We know Keller’s working with the government on the exterminations. I’m assuming that’s still happening.”

  “And Keller won’t give it up, according to Keller himself, Bishop and Declan,” Rebel agreed.

  “So people could think we’re involved,” Hammer continued.

  “They could,” Caspar said slowly. “What are you really worried about?”

  “Suppose Keller finds a way to force our involvement?”

  Caspar spoke, swiftly and fiercely, like the decisive leader he was. “We will never be involved. I’d kill him and take on the government myself. Table vote on that, right now.”

  It was unanimous. Recorded in the club rules.

  “I know Keller’s ideas of morality are different from ours,” Caspar went on. “But we can’t lose ourselves.”

  “It’s a palace of sin,” Goose grumbled. “Orgies, men fucking men…”

  Rebel kept his head down, recording the notes for Caspar, as he’d taken to doing before he’d moved away to start construction on this compound. He hadn’t been able to make it for every meeting, and it felt good to be back doing this part of his job. Until Goose’s threatening words gave voice to his worst fears.

  But hell, it proved he wasn’t completely paranoid.

  “Declan can’t stay alone. He needs someone to tail him, 24/7,” Goose said.

  Caspar turned to Rebel. “You spent some time with him when you visited Luna, right?”

  “Little bit.”

  “And?”

  “Seems like a solid guy. Kept Bishop safe. Helped find me, got me medical care,” Rebel told all of them.

  “So he knows you. Likes you. And he’d have his guard down,” Caspar mused. “You’d be a good one to make sure he’s the honest man he presents himself as.”

  “So I’m in charge of Declan?” Rebel asked, trying to keep his tone neutral with the hint of annoyance.

  “Yep.”

  Fuck. Rebel nodded slowly. “I’ll deal.”

  “Not seeing much of a choice.”

  Chapter Three

  “I have no problems eliminating an MC,” Declan reassured Keller while staring into the darkness outside the gates from the safety of his truck. “They’re first on my list. And yes. I plan to wait for the perfect opportunity. They won’t be a bother much longer.

  On the other end of the line, Keller said, “I can always count on you to do the right thing.”

  “You know it.” Declan looked up as the gates of Defiance began to open for him. “Headed inside. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Times are changing, for all of us.” Keller sighed. “If you’re not sure—”

  “I’m sure,�
� Declan said firmly as he watched the Defiance guards check his car thoroughly for explosives before motioning for him to get out. He had a feeling he could live here for ten years and they’d still search him every single time. “Gotta go,” he told Keller, then slid out of the truck.

  “He’s with me,” Rebel called out as he walked through the opened gates toward Declan.

  One of the guards turned to Rebel. “You know it’s policy, Reb.”

  “Maybe this first time, but after that, he’s treated like one of us,” Rebel told him.

  “We’ll see about that,” the guard muttered as he turned to Declan and began a rough search, hands everywhere, under Declan’s clothes, obviously trying to make him uncomfortable.

  “Having fun?” Declan murmured when the guy stuck his hand around the waistband of his jeans.

  The guard froze, blushed like he’d been caught and finished up quickly. Declan had never seen him over at the bars set aside for gay men, but he was also young. And he had no idea Declan was gay. Most didn’t, until they caught sight of him at those bars, and lately, the only reason he’d visit was to meet Rebel.

  Now, he didn’t have to go farther than the next bed. It was odd, what he’d wished for three months ago, until Declan had pushed Rebel to break things off.

  Declan hadn’t been able to shake the guilt of either incident, but this was the agreement that Keller and Caspar, Defiance’s president, had come up with when they devised a plan to band together against the newest mafia in town. Ralph Fletcher was someone Keller had been keeping an eye on for years, but until he threatened to invade Keller’s territory—and Defiance’s—Keller had allowed him to do what he wanted.

  The new Defiance compound was only ten miles from Keller’s, but in the post-Chaos world, it might as well have been one hundred miles. Although the sun was peeking through more and more often, apart from the lasers the government sanctioned to keep vegetation growing and the atmosphere from freezing out the survivors like the way of the dinosaurs, it was still a dark and dangerous place to travel.

  The roads were scarred—potholed and broken. Flooded in lots of places, since storms cropped up far more easily now than ever. There was a lawlessness that many felt would never be overcome. There simply weren’t enough police and military to go around and keep the peace. In their place, MCs and gangs and mafias had taken over, their lifestyles perfect for this kind of world.

  Rebel climbed into the passenger’s seat of Declan’s truck, ostensibly to guide Declan to where he’d be staying. Declan felt as welcomed as a rattlesnake—and that included Rebel at this point—but he’d agreed to this assignment, after being handpicked by Caspar. Mainly because Declan and Bishop had worked together so well…they’d had each other’s backs. Declan had proven his worth to Defiance, and Bishop to Keller’s. The rest of the relationships were up in the air.

  The tension inside the truck was high. Rebel was basically just pointing, growling “left here” or “just keep going” in his best giving orders voice.

  Declan shifted in his seat, because of course that got him hard.

  Rebel knew that. Maybe he was ignoring it, maybe he didn’t care, or maybe, just maybe, he was doing it on purpose.

  Finally, Declan pulled into the parking garage next to Rebel’s truck—and Rebel’s bike. This was reinforced, but there was a doorway that opened, where the vehicles could be driven underground in case of more serious storms. He recalled Rebel telling him that there would have to be drills on this for efficiency, since having the cars parked underground all the time wasn’t helpful in case they needed to escape.

  So fucking much to think about.

  He followed Rebel through the aboveground structure that was nothing more than a place to come up to get some air during a storm. From there, they went down into Rebel’s house, down the ladder, while Declan told himself to just fucking breathe…

  God, he hated this underground shit, he thought as he forced himself to look around Rebel’s two-bedroom tube. One bedroom was to the left, the other, the right, rather than the typical railroad style.

  “They’re mixing it up,” Rebel said with a shrug when Declan commented out loud on it. “Some of the women were bitching about the railroad thing. Everyone’s a critic after a while.”

  “Underground living’s not easy.” It was like talking to a stranger.

  “I designed it.”

  “You?”

  Rebel bristled. “Yeah, why? Bikers can’t be smart?”

  “Sweetheart, I always knew you were.”

  “Did you seriously just call me sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” Declan said. “Suits you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Declan raised a brow…and didn’t say a word. Instead, he glanced into the bedroom on the left side—it looked unlived-in. “Guess that’s where I’m staying.”

  “You think so?” Rebel asked with just the right amount of edge in his voice.

  “Yes,” Declan said definitively. “If for nothing else other than appearances.”

  “Sure of yourself,” Rebel muttered.

  Declan snorted and went to put his bag in the empty room. He found a safe in the floor where he could store his weapons and make his own combination of numbers to secure the whole thing. He went through his weapons bag on the bed, unrolling the various sniper rifles, pistols and knives.

  He could feel Rebel behind him, watching, but didn’t let that change his precise method. He would still be carrying out jobs for Keller from here—and working alone if he couldn’t work with Bishop or his crew from Keller’s.

  He didn’t want it to be Rebel. Rebel was far from innocent, but hell, being an assassin was a far cry from Rebel’s normal, pre-Chaos world. He was a biker, through and through, born into an MC family. He was a legacy, used to violence…but there was a huge difference in the type of violence Declan was responsible for.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” Rebel said now. “I can always tell. Your shoulders set, like you’re suddenly at attention.”

  At attention to his memories…a good way to think of it. He glanced over his shoulder, “You’re just looking at my ass.”

  “You’re right,” Rebel admitted, coming up behind him, standing close enough for Declan to feel the heat from his body. Declan ached for his touch but was grateful that Rebel decided not to. “You almost done putting away your weapons of mass doom and destruction?”

  “Almost. Thankfully, doom and destruction require a lot less weaponry these days.” He turned to Rebel. “What now?”

  “Table meeting tomorrow afternoon. Until then, you’re supposed to stick with me. I’m officially in charge of you.”

  Declan scoffed and pulled away from Rebel, not ready to be this close to him…not ready to make up with him either. “You going to be in charge of me? Keep me in line?”

  Rebel’s voice was husky when he spoke next. “I didn’t ask for the job. Maybe it’s a sign.”

  “Some people think the Chaos was a sign,” Declan pointed out. “I’ll request another room.”

  “No,” Rebel said too quickly. “I told Caspar I’d do this. He’ll want to know what’s up if you’re out of here this fast.”

  Declan smiled. “If that’s the reasoning that gets you through the night. Keeps your conscience clear.”

  “Fuck you, Declan.”

  Yes, this is going really well. “How’s this going to work?” Declan asked tightly.

  “We’ll make it work.”

  Declan gave a short laugh. “Just like that? As long as I let you in on every detail of what I do for Keller and let you tail me 24/7.”

  “Doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

  “Rebel, we’re over.”

  “You and I both know that’s not true.”

  Declan knew that as well as he knew anything, but he still forced himself to protest. “Are you kidding me? You freaked out when you thought Keller people knew, and they have regular orgies there. And now we’re in the thick of it and you want to
start fucking again.”

  “Yes,” Rebel said simply.

  Declan felt the anger and disbelief tear through him…the familiar longing too. “Let’s keep it professional,” he said before turning back to his unpacking.

  *

  The heat was stifling.

  His body was battered and bruised—his throat swollen from fighting back screams he refused to give voice to, his skin hot and tight, almost numb to the abuse it was taking. He cycled through hearing his tormentors’ voices, egging each other on, each wanting to be the first one to make him cry out.

  They didn’t…not until they’d locked him inside the box and lowered him into the ground…

  “Declan…Dec, wake up, man.”

  He shifted violently, trying to make room in a space where there was none. He was tethered to it by the size, the drugs…

  “Jesus Christ, watch it, man. Come on, Dec—you’re okay. Wake the fuck up before you strangle yourself. Or me.”

  That did it—Rebel’s voice, cursing at him while he was having the shittiest dream ever, brought Declan to the surface of the muddy pond. He gripped the edge of the bank and tried not to slide back in as he veered in between that place of fully asleep and fully awake.

  It took him what seemed like hours to finally blink and note that while he was, as usual, half wrapped in the goddamned sheets so tightly he couldn’t move, and inside a goddamned tube structure…it wasn’t his.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He shook off the last of the sleep, unraveled the covers and looked at Rebel, lying next to him.

  “I live here,” Rebel said cautiously. “What the hell were you doing in your dream?”

  Declan ignored his question, demanded instead, “When did you come in here?” with more force than was probably necessary.

  It didn’t, however, have any effect on Rebel, which was fucking annoying at the moment. “Right after you fell asleep. Glad I did.” Rebel was up now, leaving the room and returning with a washcloth soaked in warm water to wipe the now-cold sweat from Declan’s face and neck and chest that was making him start to shiver.