cool, Mathias. The way it should be.”
No woman would ever come between us—we were too close for that. You like her?
“I’ll like her just fine if she makes you happy.” Bish paused. “But you’re worried.”
Too many unknowns.
“Sometimes, that’s the best way to live life.”
Chapter Twelve
Young Americans
Jessa
Tru told me I could stay in the guesthouse we’d hung out in. She said she’d stayed there when she first came back to Defiance, and that it seemed to be a place of good luck. The guesthouse was clean and had lots of candles. And I could see out the windows, thanks to the generator’s lights around the compound.
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
No woman would ever come between us—we were too close for that. You like her?
“I’ll like her just fine if she makes you happy.” Bish paused. “But you’re worried.”
Too many unknowns.
“Sometimes, that’s the best way to live life.”
Chapter Twelve
Young Americans
Jessa
Tru told me I could stay in the guesthouse we’d hung out in. She said she’d stayed there when she first came back to Defiance, and that it seemed to be a place of good luck. The guesthouse was clean and had lots of candles. And I could see out the windows, thanks to the generator’s lights around the compound.
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
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