Temperance (Defiance #4)

by Stephanie Tyler

  “Fuck me,” Declan muttered when he realized he’d had a nightmare. It was most definitely not the first of its kind, and it wouldn’t be the last. But he’d never had one in front of Rebel.

  “Want to tell me what that was all about?” Rebel asked, his voice set to the quiet smooth mode that always made Declan give in.

  Except tonight. “Want to go back to your own bed?”

  “No,” Rebel said simply. Then he pushed a hand through Declan’s sweat-soaked hair, brushing it almost tenderly away from his face. For such a big guy, he always had a touch like that. “Want to shower?”

  “No.”

  “Want me to shower you?”

  Yes. “No,” Declan repeated stubbornly.

  Rebel muttered something that Declan didn’t catch, and he left the room again, coming back with more wet cloths and some dry ones. This time, he shoved himself behind Declan, wiping down his back and neck, streaming water over his hair and then toweling it dry.

  He’d also gotten a dry pillowcase, which he changed out for Declan—like he was five or something—and put another sheet in between his body and the sweat-soaked one. Finally, he pushed Declan down onto the pillow and covered him back up, and nodded in that satisfied way he always did.

  At least when Declan had spent time with him. Which he’d convinced himself wasn’t enough to have these kinds of feelings for anyone, let alone a Defiance member.

  But he managed a grudging, “Thanks,” before letting his body relax. Sleep wouldn’t be in the cards, but with any luck, though, Rebel would drift back off. Guy always slept like a rock.

  Except for tonight.

  Declan just tried to breathe and forget he was still underground. The enclosed space inside his dream—when he’d been kept in a box—had been stifling. He hadn’t been claustrophobic before that, but now he would have some degree of it forever.

  Lots of people were uneasy with the tubing systems the Defiance MC’s founding members had invented and sold to other like-minded MCs, mafias and businesses. If people didn’t have trouble with small spaces to begin with, then the Chaos made them scared of everything.

  But they eventually pushed through it. Lots of them took drugs, especially pot, and no one at Keller’s really noticed much when Declan had issues with heading underground during the storms. It was nothing out of the ordinary, they must’ve figured, and Declan wanted to keep it that way.

  The ultimate irony was that Keller had bought the tubing systems from Defiance years before the Chaos hit. It was a tie between Keller and Defiance—and ultimately, between Declan and Rebel—that he couldn’t ignore.

  The tubing he hated so much not only saved his life, but it had brought Rebel into it.

  And then he’d let Rebel go and continue to keep his sexual preferences secret, like being gay was something to be fucking ashamed of when people were scraping to merely survive. And now he was in bed with the guy.

  Serious fucking irony. Couldn’t make this shit up.

  “Been a long, rough day, right?” Rebel asked.

  “Just the usual road trip.”

  It was Rebel’s turn to shift in the bed, so he was practically lying glued to Declan’s side. Again, his hands brushed through Declan’s hair as he said quietly, “You know why you’re here.”

  “Because this is war,” Declan said, his tone equally quiet. He’d known it from the second the LoVs moved themselves into Keller’s compound and proceeded to shit all over it. Keller should’ve never allowed it. The MCs always overreached. But Keller knew they needed the protection of an MC, and until this past year, having Defiance slip into that position hadn’t been an option.

  But the world worked in strange ways, and to Keller, at this point, Defiance seemed the best of the worst. But Declan was wearily beyond trusting anyone.

  Except for the man who’d shared his bed for months before any of this. None of the Defiance crew—barring Bishop and Luna, who were staying at Keller’s—had any idea, and he and Rebel had agreed on that from the start. Mostly for Rebel’s sake, since he was insistent on staying in the closet. And now that Declan was going to be living on the Defiance MC compound, that would keep them both honest.

  It could also fuck everything up. “I’m here because Keller deemed I’m the best person for the trade,” Declan added.

  “Because you’re the best at what you do.”

  “Damned fucking right, Rebel. I didn’t think you had a problem with it.”

  “I don’t, dammit.”

  “But you have a problem with Keller.”

  “I’ve never lied about that. His morals—”

  Declan laughed, a straight-up belly laugh. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Come on, man. There’s still right and wrong.”

  Declan stared up at the tube’s ceiling. “True. But it’s all about personal choices.”

  “Is that what Keller says?”

  “It’s what he believes,” Declan corrected.

  Rebel side-eyed him. “Exactly how close are you two?”

  Declan felt the familiar rush of nerves shoot through him, but he forced himself to relax. “He trusts me with his life.”

  “So do I,” Rebel commented.

  “Guess I’m just a trustworthy kind of guy…once I decide to let you in.”

  Rebel gazed at him seriously. “You did. You are. I know that, Dec.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s just hard to reconcile—you with Keller.”

  “I’m an assassin for hire. If the world were different, I might be in the CIA. Or maybe I’d still be working for a Keller type. But I have my own line I don’t cross. I know what I’m willing to do. Besides, I thought Bishop already told you that working for Keller wasn’t terrible.”

  “He said working with you wasn’t. Plus, having Luna there was a big help too. Guess having someone you love always makes it better.”

  Declan wanted to shoot back, “I wouldn’t know,” or “Maybe for some people,” but all he could manage was a resigned, “Yeah,” although he refused to look at Rebel’s face when he said it.

  “I’m staying here, in this bed with you, Declan, until you agree to come over to mine,” Rebel told him.

  “Your mixed messages are killing me. You know the one where you break up with me and leave Keller’s, only to almost die and leave me drowning in goddamned guilt for months while you recover. And never call or give me a message through Mathias and Bishop.”

  “I wanted to,” Rebel said suddenly, the words seeming to echo through the tubing. “Can that be enough for tonight?”

  “Not if it doesn’t get you out of this bed.”

  *

  “What the fuck do you dream about, Declan?” Rebel whispered into the darkness as Declan dozed next to him. The guy had tossed and turned for most of the night before he’d started talking—yelling—in his sleep. Rebel had witnessed Declan attempting to free himself from an imaginary prison above him and he’d gone cold. What the hell had Declan been through?

  Rebel’d known it was something terrible from the massive amount of tattoos covering Declan’s body, the ink layered over deep scars that Rebel used to run his fingers over when they fucked.

  That hadn’t bothered Declan, although neither man had discussed them. Or anything, really, because it was easy to keep things casual, to tell himself that was the only way they could be.

  Rebel hadn’t left the bed, as Declan requested, because both beds in this tube were his, as he pointed out.

  Declan had told him to go fuck himself. Rebel had assured him that he’d been doing that for three months.

  If this was how the next three months were going to go…well, fuck, Rebel wasn’t going to hold out another three hours without touching the man next to him.

  He’d always been a shitty sleeper anyway, and he’d lain as still as possible—and wide awake—next to Dec until morning. When he was younger, his body had gotten used to getting up in the pitch darkness of six in the morning, just before
the sun rose. That’s when he’d make morning runs with his dad on the back of his bike. It’d been something of a routine, a habit he’d taken to continuing post-Chaos, although he’d been unable to do it these past months.

  Now, he scraped his fingertips over the scar of the bullet wound on his chest. It still ached on days when it rained, and although his ribs had finally healed, they could also predict the weather with surprising accuracy. The rest of the assault had left him with contusions and scars that’d healed well on the surface…but they’d always remind him of Declan.

  Hell, if they weren’t there, he’d be thinking about Declan anyway. His entire body ached to touch Declan’s. He hadn’t known it was possible to ache from missing someone so badly.

  He turned on the water heater and climbed into the shower. The water never got as hot as he liked, but it was warmer than most times of the day, and he let it course over his body.

  He’d been hard most of the night. Most of the month, week, hours leading up to Declan coming here. This sharing-the-bed thing would be the death of him.

  He gripped his dick, stroking it, picturing Declan…feeling his eyes on him. After a few minutes, he realized that Declan’s gaze was really focused on him—out of the corner of his eye, he could see Declan standing in the doorway of the bathroom, although the guy would be too stubborn to make the first move. Rebel could turn to face him, order him in, make it easy on Declan, make it so Declan wouldn’t have to make the decisions.

  But it was too soon. Instead, he concentrated on stroking himself until he came, shot into the shower floor as he gripped the tile and wished he knew the right thing to do.

  Chapter Four

  Kev

  Kev was stretched out on an old lawn chair behind the main clubhouse, his friend Carter next to him in his own chair, and both men trying not to groan because they were still hung over from Kev’s eighteenth birthday party three days earlier. It’d been the first official celebration held on the new Defiance compound, and the MC certainly proved its rep as work hard, play hard. Kev didn’t remember a time when his life didn’t revolve around the Defiance MC. He and his brother were legacies, with Hammer taking more of a leading role post-Chaos.

  Didn’t matter how old he got though—he’d always be Hammer’s little brother, even though only four years separated them. Which, of course, fucked with Kev’s life more than it would’ve otherwise. Because Hammer was the most overprotective son of a bitch on the face of the earth. Kev couldn’t blame him, but hell, Kev was done dealing with it.

  Kev’s best friend until that point had been Hammer. He’d learned to confide in Hammer’s fiancée Aimee too, maybe more now than ever since she’d been hurt. Because she was actually less freaked out about Kev taking his place within Defiance than Hammer was.

  But lately, Kev’d been confiding more and more in Carter. Carter’d been a probie at the time of the Chaos. He’d had no family ties to Defiance, and Kev knew he’d been on his own a good portion of his life. Growing up in the MC, especially with Lance at the helm, hadn’t been a goddamned picnic, but he’d had a roof over his head and he’d known where his next meal was coming from.

  Carter was taller than Kev now, closer to Hammer’s size than Kev was. And he’d always had Kev’s back. The two’d been discussing the run between Defiance and Keller’s that Caspar had been talking about since before the move—it was a job they both wanted.

  Hammer expected Kev to be an enforcer, like he was. Kev wanted to forge his own path, and he’d seen the opportunity arise months ago, before the compound moved, when Caspar discussed the runs that would need to be made between their new compound and Keller’s. Thanks to the proximity of the LoV compound to both Defiance and Keller’s, it was a more dangerous than normal ten-mile stretch. And those runs would need to happen at least three times a week, barring major storms. They were imperative, since technology wasn’t anywhere near as reliable as it should be. Even with SAT phones, it was sometimes hard to get through, and since the two were banding together to support each other against common enemies, they needed to be up in each other’s business a great deal.

  But Defiance was already pissed about the involvement with Keller’s, and Caspar’s run announcement was met with a lot of resistance—behind Caspar’s back, for the most part. The meeting that’d been held weeks earlier still bounced around Kev’s head.

  “What’s this shit? Now we’ve gotta run back and forth like bait between here and Keller’s? Like fucking messenger boys?” most of the older members—and lots of the younger ones too—were grumbling during the initial phases of the move.

  So Kev had gone to Caspar and told him, “I want to be on the crew making the runs. I want to lead the crew,” and impressed the hell out of the club’s president.

  And pissed his brother off. And some of the older members too, because they’d all argued about this before—whether it was better to send the single men along the road, or keep them for procreation.

  A lot of people argued that “newborns”—as Kev and his generation were dubbed—shouldn’t be subjected to this world.

  Many argued that children were their only hope.

  Kevin had long ago decided that this life—this world—was all about survival of the fittest. And that all he could do was be as strong as possible and take all the risks he wanted. Hammer had Aimee—and he didn’t take as many risks, Kevin noted. Especially not after how hurt she’d had gotten last year.

  To him, Hammer had become a Defiance elder, even though he was only four years older than Kevin. In Defiance, post-Chaos? That was a lifetime.

  “Caspar, take my brother off the list,” Hammer had announced.

  But Kev wasn’t having it. “I said I’d do it.”

  Hammer had turned to him, pointed. “There are plenty of other volunteers.”

  “I’m one of them,” Kev said calmly, not taking his gaze from Caspar.

  Knowing Kev was forcing him to choose, Caspar’s eyes grew icier than normal. He blew out a breath when Hammer interjected, “This is between brothers.”

  “No, it’s not, Hammer.” Caspar had spoken calmly, decisively, even though his body was tense. “It’s about what’s best for the club. It’s about Kevin being a full-fledged member, not a probie. It’s about choice.” Hammer’s jaw had clenched. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked away and Caspar muttered, “Shit.”

  “I’m up for it, Caspar.”

  “Know that. Don’t need a war between brothers.”

  “Hammer’ll deal with it.”

  Caspar had put a hand on the back of Kev’s neck. “Need you to lead the guys. Let’s get you prepped.”

  And Caspar had given him some old maps to practice marking off routes. Kev and Carter had been diligently planning. But planning got old after a while, especially when there was no doing.

  They’d been at the new compound for three weeks, and Kev felt like they were fucking burning daylight. “This sitting around waiting’s bullshit.”

  Carter glanced at him. “Did you memorize the new routes?”

  “Go ahead and quiz me.”

  Carter snorted. “With the amount of booze you drank, I’m surprised you have brain cells left.”

  “More than most of the old timers,” Kev muttered, getting more restless as the moments went by. Now, he turned to Carter and asked, “Wanna get the fuck outta here and take a practice run?”

  “Let’s do it,” Carter agreed.

  “Gotta tell someone here, so they know to watch out for us,” Kev mused.

  “That’s the smartest fuckin’ thing you’ve said this whole conversation,” Caspar said easily.

  Kev and Carter froze, then turned slowly to see the president of the MC sitting behind them. He’d probably been there first, and he didn’t have to alert them to his presence. No, they’d been stupid enough not to check.

  “We’re just ready, Caspar,” was all Kev could say. “I’m tired of everyone bitching about havi
ng to do their job. They don’t want it, but I do.”

  “Me too,” Carter added.

  “I know the routes,” Kev emphasized. “I’ll do a dry run with Carter in the van. Keller’s guards will call when I get to the compound. I can fucking do this.”

  He’d spoken calmly enough, although Caspar looked icy as fuck.

  “Sure you’re ready?” Caspar asked.

  “Truth? I’m scared shitless,” Kev admitted.

  Caspar actually smiled at that (and Caspar’s smile was just as scary as any angry expression he had) and Kev frowned until Caspar explained, “Fear’s a good thing. No fear means you’re fucked.”

  “Hope you’re right.”

  Caspar nodded. “I’ll bring it up with Rebel and Keller tonight. See if we can get this going in the next day or two.”

  Kev waited a beat, then said, “And Hammer?”

  Caspar growled, “Hammer’s got a fuckin’ job, right?”

  “Right.”

  With that, Caspar walked away, and both Kev and Carter breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Dude, that could’ve gone so much worse,” Carter said.

  Kev agreed. “We can’t fuck this up now.”

  “Gonna be hard not to. Maps are for shit,” Carter reminded him. “All this planning, and we don’t have any solid leads that these roads still exist.”

  “Caspar rode them.”

  “Three months ago,” Carter pointed out.

  Truth was, things changed on the daily here, depending on weather and enemies and tons of other post-Chaos shit that changed their lives. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Carter nodded. “Gotta get to work.” He was helping out with tube production—they all were, during these busy times. “Catch up with you later.”

  After Carter left, the lights on the generator and the solar-assisted lights of the compound began to slowly come up. Strategically placed to save money and fuel, they actually ended up making things look more damned depressing than they were in the dark. But today, Kev couldn’t worry about that, because he spotted the new guy, sitting a few yards from him. Far enough that he hadn’t heard the conversations with Carter and Caspar. Close enough to know that this had to be Declan.