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  A lot of these guys were more into power than men. Rebel wasn’t one of them—he liked them both equally. His gut told him that the man named Declan did as well.

  Declan was maybe Rebel’s age—not much older and could be younger. At this point, most of this world was run by a far younger generation than would ever have been allowed. The young, the strong and the impatient were ruling the world. Violence was a necessary part of daily life. They fit in pleasure when they could.

  Rebel knew, just by looking at the guy that he was one of Keller’s assassins. The way he was dressed gave it away as much as Rebel’s cut would’ve.

  But tonight, Rebel wore a black leather jacket instead of his cut. But there was no hiding his MC status. And really, that was the point of coming here.

  He approached Declan, who leaned casually at the corner of the bar. Months of observation hadn’t told Rebel anything more than he’d learned the first night. Even though Declan wasn’t the only one of Keller’s men around, he was definitely the one you didn’t want to fuck with—the quietest, therefore the most lethal.

  The other Keller guys tended to get as rowdy as the MC guys. But Declan watched it all from his corner. Sometimes guys would get up the nerve to approach him—usually the big leather-Daddy types. Rebel was surprised that Declan didn’t blow them off.

  In the blink of an eye, they’d be gone—Rebel supposed they went to the backroom, or back to Declan’s. He tried not to think about it too much, because each time it happened, it was a missed opportunity. Because Declan’s eyes were always watching him. Always. They’d circled for months, Rebel avoiding him because he was Keller’s, and even though none of that mattered here, Rebel had a loyalty to Defiance.

  Which was pure bullshit, but at least Rebel was the only one who knew that. Because Declan scared the hell out of him, in a way that most things—and most men—didn’t.

  But tonight, Rebel needed to push all of that aside. He wouldn’t trust any other of Keller’s men to ask info of. But Declan? His gut steered him that way.

  One call from Bishop to Caspar wasn’t going to satisfy Rebel. He wanted a permanent line to her. Although he trusted Bishop, the fact that she’d been forced to remain at Keller’s compound until Bishop’s term of service was over didn’t sit well with him.

  “Buy you a drink?” Rebel asked.

  Declan had watched him walk over—he was definitely interested.

  Rebel got close and studied Declan’s face under the dim lights. Rebel was taller. Broader. But Declan was far more handsome.

  Declan’s gaze flicked over him. “I don’t need another drink.” He finished the one he’d been nursing, put the glass down on the bar and moved away toward the direction of the backroom. Which was also close to the exit.

  Rebel waited a beat, then followed. When he pushed through the door, he found Declan waiting in the hallway in between both doors.

  Rebel’s heart pounded a drumbeat in his ears. He’d never gone back there, mainly because he preferred going to his truck for more privacy. But Declan wasn’t giving him that choice. “I need some information.”

  “Are you offering to let yourself get fucked for information?”

  “I’m offering to fuck you in exchange for information that doesn’t affect your empire as much as it does my friends.”

  Declan’s gaze raked him. “Defiance.”

  Rebel didn’t confirm or deny.

  “I don’t fuck in the backroom,” Declan told him. “And you’re asking a favor from me.”

  “Like you can get what you want from these guys?” Rebel asked. “Because I don’t think you show them what you really want. They assume you’ll fuck them and you don’t argue. But that’s not going to get you off. Not really.”

  He traced Declan’s cheek with his knuckles, his other hand cupping Declan’s cock through his leather pants. Yeah, weeks and months of observation had taught him something valuable.

  “You been fantasizing about tying me up, Rebel?” Declan thrust his hips so he rubbed himself against Rebel’s hand. “Because there’s no one here to give you what you need.”

  Rebel pulled Declan to him and kissed him. Declan’s hands went to Rebel’s waist, his fingers loosely threading through the belt loops, content to let Rebel take the lead, even though Declan was anything but submissive.

  Rebel understood the need for dominance and submission as instinctively as he did MC life. The latter was something he was born into but the former? That was a part of him he’d been born with.

  “Your friends are fine. Both of them,” Declan told him.

  Rebel narrowed his eyes.

  “Yeah, I just gave you something for nothing. Because I admire the fact that you’d whore yourself for them.” There wasn’t sarcasm in his tone...actually, something close to admiration. “Guess it’s easier since you’ve wanted to sleep with me.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself.”

  “You didn’t say I’m wrong. But if I let you fuck me, it’s not going to be a chore on your end.”

  Declan walked away. Rebel pulled him back. “Wouldn’t be.”

  Declan studied him. “You want proof about your friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call Bishop. You can listen in.”

  “He won’t be suspicious?”

  “Considering I work with him? No.”

  Rebel swallowed. “You set me up.”

  “I told you I’d let you do this to me anyway, Rebel. You think I don’t know what you’re into? You think that doesn’t turn me the fuck on?” Declan grabbed Rebel’s wrist and guided it against his erection.

  Rebel stared at the man who didn’t show weakness and appreciated his openness. Granted, there was nothing weak about submission.

  “No, I don’t think it makes me less of a man,” Declan said. “Do you?”

  “Fuck no.” Rebel knew there was no way he was strong enough to let himself be tied.

  Rebel grabbed him and kissed him, pinning the man against the wall. Declan groaned into his mouth, especially when Rebel held his wrists hostage above his head. It became a fast, hard grind, with Declan definitely getting off by being held in place...and that got Rebel off too.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to approach me. I didn’t think you’d make it a business transaction,” Declan said.

  “Everything these days is,” Rebel told him. “And you could’ve approached me.”

  “Could’ve.” Dec gave him a small smile. “You weren’t ready.”

  He wanted to tell Declan to fuck off, but he couldn’t. For a lot of reasons, not the least one being that Declan was right.

  “Luna kicked some chick’s ass. Headbutted a guard. That was the first hour.”

  Rebel smiled. “Sounds like her.”

  “Then she went with Bishop. He’s made it clear that she’s hands off to anyone. Keller’s backing that.”

  “I want to hear that from Bishop.”

  “You want him to know how that’s happening—that you came to me for information?”

  Rebel stared at him. “For her? Yeah.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She’s the only one who understands.”

  Declan looked at him. “Maybe she doesn’t have to be the only one.”

  Chapter Ten

  Luna woke, blinked at the small lamp burning on the table across the room where Bishop sat, reading.

  Bishop.

  She blinked away the disorientation that swept over her, felt like she’d slept for days and days. She’d nearly forgotten where she was.

  Keller’s. With Bishop.

  “It’s midafternoon. Nearly three,” Bishop told her quietly, as if sensing her disorientation.

  She nodded, pulled the blanket around her, suddenly cold. Bis
hop got up, went over to the kitchenette area and brought her over a mug of coffee. It smelled like real coffee, not instant, and it was the perfect caramel color. She took a sip and nearly moaned.

  “Yeah, they’ve got the good stuff here,” he told her.

  Another few sips, another few minutes of being awake, coming to terms with where she was and she was better. “I didn’t mean to sleep for that long.”

  “You needed it.”

  And he’d stayed here, watching her, almost guarding her. At least that’s what she told herself. “So...what now?”

  She didn’t know what Bishop actually did here, except fight. She had her suspicions, of course, based on whispered conversations she’d caught going on in Defiance, and because she knew the rumors of what Keller himself did. With his mob connections, she knew that having bare-knuckle fights on his property wasn’t what made him his money.

  “I was going to wake you soon, anyway. Keller actually has something for you to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He wants you at the garage.”

  “He’s putting me to work?”

  Bishop shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m earning my keep. Keller expects you to earn yours.”

  “By fixing cars?”

  “Would you rather fight? Because there’s a ladies’ night.”

  She held up a hand. “Cars are fine.”

  And she’d be dictated to once again. Out of one prison and into another. As much as the atmosphere from last night hadn’t felt like it, she’d been a fool to think it might be different here.

  “Before you freak out, let me take you to the garage, okay?”

  She put the mug down and got out of bed. “I’m not freaking out. I just didn’t expect to be summoned.”

  “What the hell did you expect, Luna? A free ride?”

  Okay, maybe she hadn’t thought any of this through. Bishop had been first and foremost on her mind, the only thing, actually, and the consequences hadn’t factored into her thoughts. She crossed her arms. “What do you do for Keller, besides fight?”

  He stared up at the ceiling for a long moment. Said, “I knew we’d get here, but last night was pretty goddamned perfect. I was hoping for more of that.”

  It had been pretty perfect. She wanted more of that too, but she’d already gone into so many things in her life blindly. “I want answers, Bishop.”

  “You think you’re owed them?” He wasn’t angry, but rather almost curious. She opened her mouth to say yes and realized that no, she wasn’t owed them at all. No one had dragged her here. “Remember what I told you about asking questions for things you don’t want answers to. Get ready to see Keller. We’ll deal with this shit later.”

  He put his book down and went into the bathroom. She heard the shower running seconds later and she sagged against the wall, murmured “that went well” to herself. Granted, demanding to know things that could get her in trouble wasn’t the smartest thing, and she could let that go for the present moment.

  But being left alone here...

  Fear curled in her belly. She’d known that at times she’d be on her own here, because Bishop couldn’t be with her 24/7, but now, Keller could order her around...

  She heard her breathing harshen. The familiar tremble in her muscles made her wish Rebel was here with her. Because as much time as Bishop spent with her in Defiance, he’d never been privy to one of her panic attacks. “No. Not now,” she told herself firmly, as if that would work.

  She wrapped her arms around herself more tightly, closed her eyes, pictured Rebel in front of her, saying, “Breathe, Luna...fucking breathe.”

  And that always made her want to laugh and tell him not to yell at her while she was panicking.

  This was such a mistake. All such a mistake, because Bishop couldn’t comfort her the way Rebel did...

  As if to immediately banish that thought, Bishop’s arms came down around her, pulling her tight to him. He wound a hand around the back of her neck, rubbed softly, and he sang to her. She didn’t know the verse, but his voice was good and rumbly and she concentrated on the vibrations from his chest against her cheek and she finally breathed.

  “Sorry, babe. I tend to forget how soft you are under that tough-girl act,” he told her when he finished the song, and the way he said soft wasn’t insulting at all. Not when his fingers were massaging her scalp and shoulders and his body was warm and comforting. “You need shit to do. You don’t want to hang out here all day. And Keller doesn’t give everyone a job. You don’t know it, but this is a good thing.”

  “Really?” she asked, her voice quiet, her cheek still against his chest. If it was up to her, she’d never move. Not for a long time.

  She’d held herself so stiffly while she’d panicked that her muscles ached a bit now. That always seemed to happen.

  “If he didn’t ask you to go to the garages, I’d have brought you there myself. They have some open so people can try to fix their cars.”

  “Keller doesn’t have mechanics? I mean, I can’t be the only one.”

  “Sure he does, for his cars.”

  “Right. He doesn’t want people mobile.”

  “No, he doesn’t want you mobile,” Bishop said, but his tone was light.

  She pulled back a little. “Will I be okay over there alone? They took my knife and guns when I got here.”

  It slipped out before she could stop herself, but he made the connection instantly, saying, “I know what happened with Aimee really fucked you up. And you won’t be alone—Keller’s got guards outside and I’ll make sure they keep an eye on you. But you should have some personal protection.”

  If she was going to be without Bishop around here, she wanted to be armed. She’d always been armed in Defiance after what happened with Aimee, and Bishop had most definitely noticed, although he’d never said anything.

  They’d never talked about that, but he knew. She’d cut herself off from everyone.

  Except Rebel.

  Except Bishop. Because he’d pushed his way in and refused to leave. Out of everyone, he’d be the one she’d ended up telling everything to. But he’d already sensed it. And now, he let go of her, led her over to a closet. He’d rigged a safe—Caspar or Rebel must’ve shown him to do to this. It wasn’t commonplace in the structures Defiance sold to the public, but Defiance tubes all had them. Inside, she saw Bishop had stockpiles of guns and ammo, knives, cash and a Taser. Brass knuckles too. And the keys to her truck.

  “I know where it’s impounded too,” he told her. “She’s safe and sound, primed for a secret exit if and when we need it.”

  “Glad you’ve got visitation rights,” she told him. “And this does make me feel better.”

  In truth, she’d figured he had some kind of arsenal, but seeing the extent of it, knowing he had an escape plan (several, she assumed) was really calming.

  He riffled through the knives, guns and brass knuckles as she watched, openmouthed. “They search you. I saw them do it, outside the fight.”

  “Obviously not well enough.”

  She surveyed the weapons and he pointed to the bronze-handled knife, the smallest one there and said, “Take that.”

  She picked it up, feeling doubtful.

  “It’s deceiving,” he said, sensing her hesitance. “Always go for the smallest. It’s sharp as fuck.” He clicked it closed. It looked like a lighter.

  She took it from him and their hands touched. He closed his hand around hers, stared into her eyes and for the first time she looked at him. Really looked.

  And fell harder than she’d ever thought possible.

  Chapter Eleven

  True to Bishop’s word, there were two guards standing outside the garage.
They shook Bishop’s hand, said hello to her as if they’d been expecting her. Bishop led her inside the empty garage space.

  It was large, and it continued in almost a railroad apartment fashion, with a closed door she could see a few garages down.

  “I’m the only one working today?” she asked.

  “Keller probably did that on purpose, so you’d feel comfortable,” Bishop told her.

  “So what, he’s really a great guy?”

  Bishop didn’t answer her, so she stopped worrying about Keller and instead took in the space. Because it was at least familiar here—among the sights and smells and sounds of the garage, the tools, the smell of gasoline and oil and exhaust—scents she associated with inherently male beings.

  There was a single car waiting to be fixed. The hood was open, the guts of the motor splayed out sadly on a table next to it. She leaned in, began touching the parts that were left and came out covered in oil. She didn’t bother to wipe much of it off, just her fingers with an old rag as she glanced over the parts for a few long minutes, then asked, “Do you know anything about cars?”

  When there was no answer, she turned to find him leaning against the car, staring at her like she was from Mars.

  “I mean, not every guy can fix cars. I know you know about weapons and things, but cars and bikes are different animals,” she continued. “Why are you just looking at me like that?”

  He still didn’t say anything, but pushed off the car bumper and moved over to the workbench. There were parts laid out, an engine rebuild in process and from the looks of things, someone was fucking up royally.

  Bishop’s gaze took it all in before he picked up a piece and put it aside. Then he touched the engine briefly, put his fingers on three different places and shook his head.

  Okay, question answered. He did know what he was doing. She nodded her approval and out of habit, she started taking apart the engine. The way it was cobbled together, the poor person behind the wheel of whatever car it was going into would end up stranded.