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.
When I did, Mathias stripped my clothes off. Naked, with Mathias’s hands playing with my nipples, I fought the urge to cover myself, because he was in charge.
That’s what he told me. Mouthed, I’m in charge here. You’re okay with that.
A statement, not a question, but I was more than okay with it. I didn’t hesitate to nod, and was rewarded with a hand sliding down between my legs. I gasped with pleasure as his fingers found me and my eyes closed. But his other hand went to my chin, gave it a little shake.
When I opened my eyes, he motioned for me to keep them open.
I did. I watched him walk around in front of me and kneel, watched it all happen in the mirror as he put his head between my legs. It was almost like an out of body experience. He stroked me with his tongue, hard and fast, and I watched him lick my cleft. When I came, because it didn’t take long, I grabbed his hair tightly and I broke his rule, tearing my gaze from the mirror so I could look down at him.
He’d been watching me the whole time. He pushed back and I grabbed for the wall as my legs threatened to give out. But he was up, carrying me to the bed, telling me without words that I’d broken the rules, and that I was to be punished.
He tied me to the bed. I was on my belly, arms stretched overhead, more excited than I could remember. Having just been tied by the LoV, this erased any and all bad memories associated with that, especially because his fingers were easing me open, teasing out another orgasm.
He slapped my ass roughly—three then four times—and then he ran a hand over my ass cheeks before he entered me. When he was fully inside of me, he grabbed my hips and pulled them up. And then he took me. That was the only way I could describe it, a thorough and complete claiming, his thighs slapping the backs of mine, my body helpless against his thrusts.
All I could do was surrender to him. So that’s exactly what I did.
Fight the good fight
Mathias
An hour or so later, when I was as fully satiated as Jessa was, I untied her. I’d gotten a lot of my demons out today, with the fight and with Jessa. She knew it wasn’t all gentle sex with me. And she seemed more than okay with that.
Now, she rubbed a hand along the snake tattoo and she asked, “Tell me more about the signs.”
I stared at the ceiling, wondering if I even wanted to go there. It was useless to
try to keep her at arm’s length now. I’d let her so far in, farther than any woman had even been, that there was no going back now.
I grabbed the alphasmart and I started to type. It’s about when I first met Bish.
“You had a sign about that?”
I had the same exact sign I had with you.
Her mouth dropped and yeah, that was the reaction I’d expected. And then she said, “How did you meet him?”
It wasn’t pretty.
“I think you wanted to tell me, back at the warehouse this morning,” she said.
She was right. I motioned for her to read as I typed the story as fast as I could, as if speed could somehow make it all better, even as I flashed back to a night many years earlier in the bayou.
Screams. Unholy screams. It was maybe nine in the evening and I’d been on the porch, waiting for my father to come in from work. I stood, my entire body tingling, and I heard rustling in the tall grass.
Something was coming. Someone. And then there he was, a boy my age. Taller. Thinner. And beaten to fucking hell. He jumped on the porch and seemed to realize he was trapped.
I didn’t hear anyone coming after him, but I sensed it.
There was an old trunk my mom kept out on the porch—it was too big for the house but we used it at night to rest our drinks or feet on. Now, I lifted the lid and pointed.
Panic flooded Bish’s face—his cheeks smeared with dirt and tears—and that might’ve been the very last time I’d ever seen him cry. Not that he lacked emotion. But I guess everything was easier to handle once you had someone on your side.
I didn’t know he was claustrophobic at the time. Maybe it was better I hadn’t known. I locked him in the trunk and shoved the key inside the hollow windowsill, in a hole that couldn’t be seen unless you were as low as I was to the ground. And the angry Indian was well over six feet—taller than my dad, because I judged that by the way he cleared the porch roof without ducking.
The Indian bowed forward so he didn’t slam his forehead against the doorjamb. “I followed that little bastard up here.”
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