Bish could drink more and not show it better than anyone I knew. Had a wooden leg for sure, I told him as we passed the bottle back and forth on the hill that had once overlooked Lance’s house.
Caspar had the house taken down when Trix left and Roan died. No one had heard from Silas but we knew Caspar would let him back in.
“You’re set to fight,” Bish told me.
I took another drink.
“She’s seen you fight.”
Not what I’m worried about.
Kian was here, in the compound with several other Kill Devils. They were here for the fight, but also to discuss the situation with Jessa. Keller was close. Kian said Keller was staying at the motel up the road.
“You knew it’d come to this.”
I had. But I hadn’t counted on my feelings for Jessa getting in the way of every goddamned rational thought. Just stay close to her while I’m fighting.
“Won’t let her out of my sight.”
Love, hate, sex and pain
Jessa
“He’s fighting here?”
Bishop nodded. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“Before he didn’t want me there.”
“That was before.”
I studied his face, looking for the catch, the reason, but he had a poker face. I pulled boots on and followed him across the now-crowded compound. I knew Defiance held fights, but they were different than the fights Mathias and Bishop attended off the compound. Those were illegal, anything-goes fights, and from what little I knew, the fights Defiance hosted had rules and refs.
The off-compound fights were mainly about money and then reputation. The fights held here, at the MC, were all about reputation. “He represents Defiance when he fights here.”
“Yes.”
I didn’t say anything else, just surveyed the scene. There were other MCs there—I saw the different symbols on the bikes and I was grateful to be next to Bishop. Rebel fell into step next to me and I let them weave me through the thick groups of people already inside the tent.
It was warm in the tent where the ring was set up, thanks to all the bodies. We went right up to the raised ring and I saw Mathias was already in there, along with his opponent.
Mathias. His hands, those beautiful hands with the long fingers and squared nails—his hands were such a big part of him and they were taped. The man in the ring with him wasn’t tall but he was brutishly wide. Tattooed with stars and teardrops.
“Russian prison tattoos,” Bishop told me in my ear. “All of them tell a story.”
“What do his say?”
“That he’s a really bad motherfucker.”
I didn’t take my eyes off Mathias, like something bad would happen if I looked away for a single second. Like I was his good-luck charm, and for that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be so.
I fisted my hands when he fisted his. “Why does he fight like this?”
“For me.”
“That doesn’t make...” But it did make sense before I could get the word out. I’d met them. I’d known Bishop was the more violent of the two, although Mathias was the most aggressive. He burned nervous energy like crazy. And in order to keep himself calm, which, in turn, kept Bishop calm, Mathias had to burn off his energy.
In the ring, the electricity was a pop and sizzle in the air. The air was crisp outside but inside the tent the humidity hung over us like a heavy rain cloud ready to burst. People crowded me—or tried to, anyway—but Bishop was my wall.
Tru came up next to me then, with Caspar on her other side. I’d seen Mathias fight for my life, so I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous now.
That was about your life. This is about his.
Tru patted my shoulder, then squeezed reassuringly. I couldn’t tear my eyes from Mathias. He didn’t even glance my way and I guessed that was better because otherwise, I might’ve run into the ring and thrown myself on him.
And then the air changed and it was as if everything and everyone got sucked out of my line of sight. I had tunnel vision, focused on the brother of a leering LoV biker named Ocho who’d put a hand on my breast and said, “You’ll be mine” every day for the two weeks I’d been captured. What was he doing here?
I’ll never be yours. “Never.”
That word echoed and landed squarely at the LoV biker’s feet, because the man had stepped in front of me, blocking my view of Mathias. Next to me, Bishop growled, because those actions were a dare. An explosion that would happen if anyone from his crew tried to touch me again.
The LoV biker leered, but moved away. I looked up at Mathias and then my eye caught on something, a man watching me from the other side of the ring. He looked familiar, and it took me a few seconds to understand who he was.
I hadn’t seen Keller when he’d come to the compound, but he looked enough like his son for me to finally get it. Last time, Caspar hadn’t let the LoV close and now, they’d been invited in, along with the man threatening to destroy Defiance. Threatening to destroy me.
For a long moment, I couldn’t breathe, but Bishop’s hand was strong on my shoulder. I glanced up at him. He was watching Keller steadily, that look of almost amusement on his face that actually made me think that a psychotic rage was running through his veins. When he glanced and caught my eyes, I saw I’d been correct. I never wanted to see that look in his eyes directed at me, and thankfully, it wasn’t. But it was still because of me.
They’d known this fight would bring Keller out to the compound—Caspar, Mathias, Bishop. They’d wanted him to know where I was. This was a taunt of, Try to get her if you want her but we promise you that backing off’s the best option.
Defiance was going to fight for me, and tonight Mathias represented Defiance.
Because of that, I drew my strength from them and pretended I was part of this plan all along. I put my head against Bishop’s arm and in turn, he wound it around me, drew me in and the rabid dog inside of him was calmed for the moment.
I did it because that’s what Mathias would’ve done. And in that moment, I knew I could have a place in Mathias’s life. That there was room.
As if reading my mind, Bishop said, “Mathias deserves to be happy.”
“So do you,” I told him.
This right here’s as high as it gets
Mathias
Keller figured shit out pretty quickly, but man, the look on his face when he’d seen Jessa had been worth it.
On fight night inside the MCs, there were no weapons allowed, other than fists. The MCs had been checked at the gates, their cars and bikes and weapons secured. These events were rarer and rarer these days, because few MCs could trust the others not to break these rules. But tonight, Caspar had only allowed in two LoVs and a handful of Keller’s bodyguards with him.
I don’t know what Keller thought about the invite—if he figured Caspar was giving in. But the message had been sent that giving in wasn’t an option, and I reiterated that by beating the shit out of Keller’s man in the ring. The smell of blood and sweat overpowered everything else and I honestly didn’t remember much beyond the sounds of gloved fists hitting flesh.
Another time, another place, another fight for my life. For a span of time in my early teens, I’d fought for my life every single day, and I’d won. Back then, I’d fought for me as much as for Bish. Tonight, I’d added Jessa to the mix, and when I left the former Russian prisoner half-dead on the ring floor, Caspar came over and patted me on the back.
Keller pointed at me and mouthed, You’re dead. But he was wrong. I’d never been more fucking alive.