Defiance (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“Reb’s lookin’ for you,” Lil’jon told Caspar as Mathias pulled up to Defiance’s guarded gates. “Something went down between Tru and Lance.”

“Motherfucker.” Caspar lit another one of Mathias’s cigarettes as the man gunned through the compound and pulled up outside the guesthouse where Tru was staying. Rebel was outside with Bishop, and Rebel met Caspar as he came out of the van.

“I stopped him before shit got bad, but he slapped her, Cas.” Rebel looked angrier than he sounded, was doing as good of a job as he could at pretending he didn’t want to kill the MC’s president. “This shit’s gotta stop.”

The anger rose inside Caspar, fiercer, harder, hotter than it ever had. Hadn’t even realized he’d pulled his knife and driven it into the fencing.

The MC destroyed his parents, and taking it over shouldn’t have to be his goddamned burden.

Your family’s been at the helm of the MC since its inception—your father started this club.

His father had planned on disassembling the gang before he’d been killed. And Caspar knew who’d killed him, didn’t need any more proof than the gut feeling he’d had upon meeting Lance, even though he had goddamned proof on paper.

The cycle of violence was never ending and impossible to extricate. The burden grew heavier and heavier until it could easily crush a man’s soul under its weight. Assuming he had a soul left at all.

Caspar pulled the knife out, turned it over and over in his hand.

If you kick a dog long enough
,
it will bite back.

“She’s okay?” he asked finally.

“Scared. Pissed. Waiting for you.”

He’d let Tru go three years ago, and maybe he was pissed at himself for that, but he couldn’t have gone with her. He could’ve—would’ve—killed her father if she’d wanted to stay. And she’d known that Silas wouldn’t have. Lance’s family believed that children should be seen, not heard, that both genders needed to be put in their place on a regular basis.

She’d been quiet. When she laughed, and she did that a lot with her friends, she lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

Then three Christmases came and went without her. When he found out through Kian that she was with Paddy, he’d forced himself not to ride there, grab her and take her back with him.

Seeing her beaten, he regretted his decision not to. Regretted the fact that he’d been angry that she’d chosen someone else to protect her.

She stayed with Paddy to protect you.
And if that hadn’t been the fucking kicker...

Guilt hovered over him and mixed in with all the other shit he’d dealt with.

He’d dealt with everything for his parents. All of it for a mother who’d done everything in her power to shield him from MC life and the cruelty she’d seen from it, and for a father he’d never met.

A father who wasn’t Lance. Caspar had proof of that, two different hospital documents. Two different dates—one, a pregnancy test and the other, a rape kit.

It was all the proof he’d needed. And when Momma was dying, she’d made him promise to make things right.

His aunt argued, didn’t want to lose him to that world.

Even though legalities meant shit post-Chaos, he’d held onto the patents for the tubes more so because they proved that Abel came up with the idea, and because they were a reminder of his legacy. Add to that the contract that proved his more than a fifty percent ownership in the company, because that’s the way Abel Senior and Lance Senior rolled. Things were better then.

“Lance Senior would be ashamed of his son,” his mother had said. “Caspar can make it right.”

You’re giving him too much to shoulder
, his aunt would argue.

But he’d taken it on when his mother died. And Lance hadn’t hit Caspar—not once. Not since he’d come into the compound and slit his own face open. Lance took all the credit for that and Caspar let him. The path of least resistance was one he needed to take until he became of age.

Until then, he’d done what Momma told him to. Took his time, listened carefully. Looked for the weaknesses and then looked for those that were the least obvious.

“Mathias will spell you, yeah?”

Rebel shook his head. “Not leaving tonight. I’ll hang with him.”

“Not your fault.”

He could say it all damned night, but Reb would take it to heart. He clapped the man on the shoulder and then scaled the guesthouse to the roof. It sloped slightly and he lay on his back, staring up at the stars, alone for the first time in days.

He’d been on the roof of the guesthouse when he’d first seen the series of lightning strikes that preceded the Chaos. Yelled to sound the alarms. Pulled shutters. Got everyone underground.

Shit rumbled for three straight weeks. Coming up from underground, realizing that the sun wasn’t breaking through the dust...not having any comms...those first days and weeks and months were marked by the MC sticking together. Taking care of their own. Dealing with whatever was left of the town and cities around them.

Now, electricity was decent, not perfect, but certainly better than nothing. Gasoline was being delivered on a semi-regular basis to most communities. To the outlaw camps, on a more than regular basis, thanks to the trading that happened among outlaws.

It was the Wild Wild West with electricity and running water maybe half the time. Rolling blackouts were common. People were digging their own wells, dealing with their own septic issues.

Grocery stores and chain stores were up and running on certain pre-specified days. Defiance made trips with large vans to bring in the supplies needed to keep their community up and running, plus enough to stock up for the next disaster.

They had plenty of men with backgrounds in electrical and plumbing works, men who were good at rebuilding and rigging back-up systems.

Even as cities and countries rebuilt, it wasn’t easy to get a clear picture of what was left. All he knew was that nothing was like it had been. Life became a throwback to the way things were without the major technological advancements. Although they were able to repair some things, like the electrical grid, rather quickly, all things considered, the stock markets took longer to get up and running and even now, their capacities were limited. Banking was more difficult, although money was safer than ever, since there was no online world to hack into.

But most preferred dealing with cash. SAT phones were in high demand. Landlines were coming back in style. Cell towers were going up in places.

People were motivated to get their lives back. But nothing would ever be the way it had been.

The structure within the compound was different too. Before, the women and children belonging to Defiance men would come to the clubhouse and its surrounding areas during picnics and other social outings, but otherwise, it was off-limits to them. The clubhouse was where the men held church—aka club meetings—weekly, where they stayed after they drank too much or wanted to screw women other than their old ladies or significant others.

The clubhouse was a man’s safe haven, and although that hadn’t changed, the compound had grown significantly. They were a tight-knit group because of what they’d been through, why he was looked upon with respect.

It was also why Tru was still under suspicion by many members, looked on as more of an outsider than the original princess she’d been.

In Paddy’s eyes, she was still that princess, would’ve brought his MC the respect and undying gratitude of Defiance. Or so he’d hoped. The Kill Devils had bought tube structures long before the Chaos happened in exchange for keeping Defiance’s on-site clinic stocked with pharmameds. The MCs were friendly. Had each other’s backs.

They also had the police in their pockets to some extent and the government and military left them alone for the most part because they used Defiance’s shelters. Instead of selling them outright, the MC rented them. Collected rent and raked in the cash for their long-standing efforts.

So yeah, Defiance and the Kill Devils were two of the few MCs that had their shit together. That should’ve bonded them. Instead, it had started to drive them further apart as each made a grab for power. Defiance gave the tubes, but Kill Devils found more money in illegal drugs than the pharmameds and in letting people pay them for protection.

Lance wanted a piece of that pie. And that’s what the major arguments at the table centered on. With Hugh gone, Lance lost an automatic vote, but Caspar knew Lance wouldn’t let that stop him for long.

It was past time for Caspar to make his move. Maybe Tru’s coming back was a blessing in disguise for the MC. Sure as hell was for him.

* * *

Hours later, Tru heard the thump on the roof above her and she knew instantly that Caspar was up there. His MO hadn’t changed. She always used to see him on a perch high up, something that gave him a wide view of what was coming.

Caspar always liked to be prepared. A biker boy scout.

She rubbed her bare arms under the heavy quilt and thought about climbing out the window and joining him on the roof. From the time she’d seen him do so, she’d wanted to try it, wanted to see the world from his vantage point. Maybe she thought she could understand him better.

From the second she’d gotten onto the roof of her house and looked around, she’d understood.

She could see everything. Imagined Caspar knowing he could see who—or what—was coming for him. It was probably the only place he could relax and feel safe, especially as one of the young, crazy ones he’d been.

And although she knew Caspar’s risks were calculated, to the rest of Defiance’s population and beyond, they looked like death-wish risks.

She wondered if anyone actually realized how wrong they’d been about him. She’d spent a lifetime, it seemed, studying him, learning from him, even though they’d barely spoken. He was the loner everyone wanted to get close to. She’d been the popular one who wanted everyone to leave her alone.

She’d been in love with him since she’d been six years old. Anyone else would’ve laughed if she’d told them. If she climbed onto the roof right now and shared that with Caspar, he’d stare at her with those blue eyes she could see in the dark. He might frown, maybe even give that sideways grin.

But he’d never laugh.

It took less than five minutes on what turned out to be her last night in Defiance to turn him into her accomplice, her partner in crime, a person she’d admitted more to about her life than anyone prior to or since.

It took her less than five minutes tonight to destroy the start of any trust he’d had in her too.

“Gotta be smart, Tru,” she told herself out loud, the way her mother used to lecture her, especially during those wild years.

Gotta hope he understands you better than you understand yourself.

The knock on the door came seconds later. She turned to the door, hoping to see Caspar, but it was Trixie who came inside without waiting for Tru to invite her.

Tru instinctively got out of bed as Trixie approached. The woman looked angry—even by the candlelight, Tru could see it in her face.

“What the hell did you say to Lance?”

“He came to me first, Trixie.”

“Not what I asked you. Tru, you’re being stupid.” Trixie was livid. “You’re mouthing off to the wrong people. I know that can’t possibly be all your idea.”

“Lance is beating women. Open your damned eyes,” Tru told her. “I thought you looked out for the women around here.”

“I do.”

“What’s that consist of—bandaging them when they get beaten?”

“Listen, girl, you haven’t been a part’a this place for years. Don’t think you can come in now and make things the way you want them.”

“I can try.” She was finally ready to try.

“Think you can make a difference?”

“I know I can.”

“Think that’s gonna make your club respected?”

“That starts with Caspar. Seems like he’s got a lot of respect, right?” she challenged.

“My husband got this club through the Chaos.”

“Caspar was here through all of it. If he hadn’t been, I’ll bet this wouldn’t be a functioning club, tube or no tubes.”

“Yeah, the bastard boy makes good. And now he’s going to get his princess and you’ll live happily ever after in the goddamned dark.” Her face was twisted into a snarl even as she laughed. “You think you’re special? That once you’re Caspar’s old lady, everything’s going to be different for you? Every young bitch thinks the same thing. Except me. I knew what I was getting into. Thought I’d drilled some sense into you about how to rule from the inside.”

“I’m guessing you’re giving Liv lessons now.”

“She’s dumb as hair. You had potential.”

“If letting myself get beaten equals having potential, forget it.”

“Then go, baby. No one’s stopping you,” Trixie taunted.

“I’m stopping her,” Caspar said roughly, and Tru hadn’t heard him come in. “Not your place to tell what’s mine to go.”

It made Tru tingle to be referred to as
what’s mine
, even if it went against everything she’d ever thought about being owned by a man in the Defiance MC. But what if Trixie was right? When you were an old lady, you were protected...against everyone but your old man.

And still, she moved to stand next to Caspar, to put her hand on his shoulder. He still wore the cut, but no shirt under it. She kissed the bare skin, part apology, part longing, then met his eyes. His hand went to her face, a finger slid over the redness and the slight bruise that remained on her cheek from Lance’s slap, despite the icing.

“Pretty baby,” he told her, in the same way he’d done so the other night before he’d put his face between her legs and licked her bare sex.

She’d heard from the women in Defiance that men were selfish during sex, took their fill then turned over and snored. But Caspar, he’d made her come several times before he had let himself.

“I like the way you say that,” she told him.

“Know it.”

He winked at her then stared at Trixie, his lips twitching with a grin he fought to contain while she glared between them.

“Isn’t this young lovers act sweet? Keep it up, you two. You’ll find yourselves out of here so fast...”