Shadow & Soul (27 page)

But she was afraid. He’d been hurt so very much in his life. To be the one to hurt him more? God.

Michael walked in and stood watching his son, a gentle, quiet smile on his face. He seemed more relaxed than Faith could ever remember him being. He turned to her, and his smile grew. He was—he was happy. On a morning after a night like that, even with the loss and danger, Michael was, just now, experiencing a moment of peace. Faith wanted to freeze time and let him have it forever.

Tucker saw his father and abandoned his work with the porridge. “Pa!”  He trotted over, and Michael picked him up and hugged him hard.

“Love you, Motor Man. You having fun?”

Tucker nodded seriously. “Cookin’ an’…an’…” Tucker swiveled his head to the corner, his forehead drawn in concentration. “Hep Lexi.”

That was the longest string of words, clear words, Faith had yet heard Tucker say, and that was apparently the case for all the adults who heard him. Michael’s eyes, and Riley’s, too, went wide and pleased. “That’s great, helping Lexi. Ian, too?”

Tucker nodded in answer to his father’s question. “Uh-huh. Cookin’ food.”

Michael looked over Tucker’s head at Faith. His eyes shone. He kissed his son. “Okay, you better get back to it. I’m going upstairs for a little bit with Faith, okay?”

He said it in the softer voice he used with Tucker, but he looked at Riley, who smiled and nodded. Michael set Tucker down, and the boy went back to his work.

“The porridge is going to burn, Tuck. You have to stir it all the time,” Lexi admonished, a dainty little Gordon Ramsay. Tucker nodded and resumed stirring.

Faith stood and went to Michael. He wrapped his large hand, the skin warm and rough, around hers and led her upstairs. At the top of the staircase was a loft area that was set up like another family room, with another wall of electronics. Either Bart or Riley was really into cutting-edge tech—probably Bart. Michael led her through that area and down a hallway, like he knew exactly where he was going. And of course he would. Bart was his brother, the club VP. He’d probably been here countless times.

He led her through a door, into a small (by the standards of all the other rooms here she’d seen) bedroom. Then he closed the door and pushed her against it, leaning into her right away and covering her mouth with his.

It took her breath away—not the force or pressure, as such, but the control. Michael had always been…well,
hesitant
at the beginning of their sex, always fighting himself, always trying to give her room to back away. That normally changed when they were deep into it, but it changed because he lost the fight.

Last night, he’d grabbed her hair and tugged her back to him, and it was the most controlling he’d ever been with her. She wasn’t someone who wanted to be dominated—at all—but she had found that strong move incredibly hot.

Being shoved against the door and kissed like this, like he hadn’t expected ever to be able to kiss her again? That was hotter. The way he started tearing at her clothes, trying to get at her as quickly as he could? Hotter still.

This was a different Michael. Somewhere along the road he’d ridden last night, he’d cast off a heavy weight. Despite the dark of last night, he was lighter, like the work he’d been sent to do had given him something he needed.

And that was what it was. Last night had opened a valve for the thing inside him he called a beast.

Faith reached between them, too, tangling with his hands, trying to get to his clothes as he was getting to hers. He released her lips with a grunt and buried his face against her neck, still struggling with her jeans and tights. She had his jeans open, his belt undone, the buckle jingling loosely, but he had her clothes bunched up on her thighs, stuck.

She bucked, forcing him to take a step backward, and turned around to face the door. When she wiggled her jeans and tights down a little farther, she bent forward and looked over her shoulder.

He stared. Hesitation was back. And now, knowing his past so much more deeply, she understood it so much better.

“Michael.”

Without a word, he stepped to her, and she felt his thick, hard cock pushing between her legs. His hand came around her hip and went to her mound, and his rough fingers slid gently over her clit and inside her, the path made swift and smooth by her arousal. He rocked his hips, and his cock pushed inside, his fingers lingering with it for just a second and then pulling back to focus on her clit.

“Oh, fuck!” she murmured, trying to be quiet. “Fuck, yes.” She put her own hand over his, feeling his hand and fingers flex with strength as he gave her pleasure. “God, Michael, it’s so good!”

His head dropped heavily onto her back, and his hips moved faster. His other hand grasped her hip and moved her on him, encouraging her own movements to counter his. Each time their bodies collided, the contact was deep and in that precise place where pleasure had grown so high it reached discomfort, and Faith couldn’t be quiet. With her face on the door, only a couple of inches between her and the rest of Bart and Riley’s house, she cried out with every crash of their bodies together.

All at once, he stopped, his body rigid. His hand between her legs moved frantically over her clit, right on the very nub, until her flaming nerves had her body twitching so much that she was moving them, forcing his cock to rub only on the singular place inside.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she breathed, knowing she was going to yell when this orgasm was finally done with her.

But Michael took his hand away and wrapped his arm around her waist. He picked her up off her feet and carried her, still buried deeply inside her, to the bed. He laid them both down, her prone on the bed, him stretched out on top of her. Propped up on his arms, he slammed into her once, twice—and she shouted into the pillow, a long wail that used all her breath. He kept going, and so did she.

When she was done, she felt his body taut and shaking on top of her. She opened her eyes and watched the spasms of his arm. She could feel him pulsing inside her.

He pulled out, making her whine with the loss, and lay on his side next to her, his face an inch or two from hers.

“You okay?” His skin was pink from his exertions, but his breath was barely heavier than normal.

“Holy hell, yeah,” she gasped, still trying to catch her breath. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it felt different. Is something different?”

He smiled and brushed an errant, wet lock of hair out of her eyes. “I think so. I feel almost normal. If this is what normal feels like. Definitely different. Last night was fucked up. We lost P.B., and Muse is fucked up. And Peaches. But I feel…I don’t know. Right, I guess.” His smile faltered. “Which is pretty fucking abnormal.”

She turned to her side and fitted her body with his, getting as close as she could. “No, it’s not. I get it. It’s normal for you. For us.” She kissed his throat and realized that he was still wearing his kutte. “Is Muse going to be okay? Do you know?” Hoosier had sent the Prospects to the hospital to keep watch, but Faith hadn’t heard more about the wounded.

“Yeah. The bullet missed his vital organs.” Demon laughed dryly. “That fucker is a lucky unlucky bastard. Second time somebody’s opened him up without getting anything important. He’s gonna look like patchwork if he keeps it up.” He rolled to his back and brought Faith with him, settling her on top of him. Her bunched jeans and tights were starting to get pretty uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to lose this moment.

“I’m gonna go see him when we get moving. You stay here, though. Hooj thinks families are safe, but I want you and Tuck here while I’m gone, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to need to check on my mom, though. Leo’s there, but I need to check in. But I’ll ask someone to go with me.”

“I’ll be back in the afternoon. Wait, and I’ll go with you.”

“No!” Too late, Faith saw her mistake. Far too late. Michael lifted his head and looked down at her.

“What the hell is going on there, Faith?”

And now she was face to face with the time she would have to tell him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When Faith put her hands on his chest and pushed away, Demon tried to hold her. But she wanted distance, and he would have had to hurt her to keep her close, so he let go. She got up and stood at the side of the bed, shimmying her tights and then her holey jeans back up.

Lying silently on his back, his jeans open and his cock out, semi-hard and still wet with her, he watched her straighten her clothes. His heart pounded heavily, but slowly, in his chest, like a medicine ball bouncing against his ribs.

Something was really wrong.

When she’d run out of clothes to fuss with, she finally met his eyes. “I need to tell you something, Michael. I need you to listen and stay calm.”

The medicine ball bounced harder, picking up speed, and his hands shook as he put himself away and sat up. Why did people say shit like that? Why the fuck did they think it would do anything to him but make him upset all the sooner? The beast in his soul bared its teeth and crouched, waiting.

“Just say it.”

She stared at him, her beautiful eyes wide and sad. And fearful. He could see it—she was fucking
afraid
of him. His fists clenched at that realization, and she saw them curl. She took a step back.

Fuck. Fuck. He didn’t even know what was lying in wait for him, but he could feel everything inside him spooling out into a twisted knot. Everything he wanted, everything he needed, was almost in his grasp. Just moments ago, he’d felt it—he could be happy. He could be normal. And it was unraveling before he could take hold of it.

“Faith.” His voice broke, but even he could hear the danger in it. “Fucking say it.”

“I…don’t know how.” Her head was down, and she’d taken another step away. He could barely hear her. She had her arms crossed, her hands tucked at her elbows, and she was pinching herself. He knew why she did that.

Demon’s face was on fire, and he knew what that meant, what he looked like. He should get out. He should run right now before he hurt her. But he was trying to learn to hold. He would never hurt Faith. Not Faith. Right?

He cast about in his mind, pushing aside the shadows that were trying to crowd in. What could it be? It was about Margot. Something about Margot. But what could be so bad? She hated him? Not news. Did Faith not think he and Tucker should move in there? Well, he wasn’t so sure, either. They’d figure it out. There was nothing. He could think of nothing.

“Faith.” He’d meant to make his voice a plea, but it came out a threat. Now she was back so far that she was pressed against the dresser. She dropped her head again, and when she looked up, she was crying, but there was resolve in her eyes, sidled up to the fear. Fear and resolve. Bravery. She needed to be brave for this.

Demon began to despair in earnest. His beast stood up.

“When everything happened…before…when you joined the Nomads…” She stopped and swallowed so hard he heard it. “I was pregnant.”

His head full of shadow, he could see no sense in what she’d said. He stared at her, feeling dark and blank. “I don’t…what?”

Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath, and a tear dropped from her jaw. He watched it hit her white t-shirt and make a spot where her pink bra showed through. “My parents…they freaked out. Michael, they made me have…they made me have an abortion.”

“You were pregnant?”

She nodded. Demon’s brain was being slow and stupid, but his blood was loud, hot, burning his veins. He didn’t understand.

“We made a baby? You and me?” A child with Faith. Their child. Made in love.

Again, she nodded. Then she made a strange, strangled sound and took a couple of steps toward him. He stood, and she froze, her eyes wide. “I wanted to keep it. I loved you then like I love you now—with everything. It was a part of you, and I wanted to keep it.”

“Don’t say ‘it.’ Our baby’s not an ‘it.’” It was all he could think of to say. It seemed like an important thing to say. They could have had a baby together. He would have been nine years old. Or she. They would have made a family.

But she’d had an abortion.

He wouldn’t have said he had an opinion about abortion. Until this moment, he wouldn’t have thought he did. And maybe for anyone else, he didn’t. Kota had never suggested it, and neither had he, and now he had Tucker. Maybe it would have been better if Tucker hadn’t been born to that woman. Maybe it would have been the humane choice for Kota not to have him. But Demon knew love for his son like he’d never known before. He couldn’t imagine not loving him, not having him. He was fighting with all he had to keep him.

But a baby with Faith—that baby would have been born in love and known only love, would have grown strong and happy in love. Demon’s chest hurt—a searing, black pain.

“You killed our baby?”

She made a sobbing sound and closed the distance between them, but Demon thought he’d break apart if she touched him.

“Michael, please! I’m so sorry. I’m
so sorry
. I didn’t have a choice. They made me.”

He didn’t understand. “How?”

“My dad said he’d kill you if I didn’t. He said he knew right where you were and would kill you that night if I didn’t.”

Demon laughed. The sound grated at his throat. “I had my patch. He lost that vote. He couldn’t just kill me, not without facing the same vote himself.”

Faith didn’t answer; she simply stared at him, her face wrenched with sorrow and that fucking fear.

“Even if he did, it wouldn’t’ve fucking mattered. That was our baby.”

“It mattered to me. I chose you. And Margot wanted to win. No matter what, she’d never have let me stay pregnant. She kicked me in the belly when she found out.”

Demon’s knees gave out, and he sat hard on the bed and put his head in his hands. He had to hold. He had to keep control. He had to think.

Faith knelt at his feet and put her hands on his arms. He tried to pull away, but she held on, her nails digging into the meat of his forearms. “Don’t pull away, Michael. I need you with me. I hated losing our baby.”

“You didn’t lose him.”

“I
did
. I hated what they did to us. It’s why I left home. Don’t you see? I know you can see, if you look. I love you. You know that.”

“How did he know where I was?”

“What?”

“Blue. I was on the road. How would he even know where to look?”

“I—I don’t know. I was too fucked up with everything to question him. I guess Hoosier told him, or the Nomad president? I don’t know.”

Her mention of Hoosier’s name put another black shadow in his head. “Does Hooj know?”

Faith sat back. She stared for a few painfully long seconds and then nodded.

“Since then? And fuck, Bibi? Were they in on it?”

“They knew. They weren’t part of it, but they knew.”

They were the closest thing he’d ever had to parents. He trusted them with everything. With his child. His second child. “They let it happen?”

She didn’t answer. Demon shoved her away—too hard, he knocked her backwards, but he barely registered doing so—and stood. With his blood scalding and his head too thick and dark now for thoughts, for anything but feelings, he left the room and went down the stairs.

Behind him, Faith called out, “Michael, no!” But only the small part of him that was still Michael heard him. The rest of him, the bulk of him that was Demon, ignored her completely.

As he walked, he saw nothing, heard nothing, his eyes trained only for what he sought. He found Hoosier in the kitchen, leaning in a corner of the counter, his arm around Bibi. There might have been other people around; he didn’t know, didn’t heed. Hoosier and Bibi looked at him, and he watched as interest became confusion and then alarm, but it was too late. He was there. He grabbed Bibi by the arm and yanked her out of his way. And then, with all of his might, he slammed his fist into Hoosier’s face. Bones cracked, possibly his own as well as his President’s, but he didn’t care. Hoosier sank to the floor, and Demon fell on him in the way that had earned him his name—fierce, blazing hot, and senseless to anything but pain, delivering and receiving.

When his sense returned, his rage had not abated. But he was on his back, held down by the hands and knees and feet of his brothers, and Bart had a shotgun aimed right at his head. The room was stormy with yelling.

Still fighting against the restraints on him, he looked at Bart and then into the barrel of the Mossberg. “DO IT              !” he shouted. “JUST FUCKING DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”

“ENOUGH!” Hoosier’s voice was strong, but the word was thick and wet. “Bart, put it down.”

“This is my house. There are women and children here. My pregnant wife was in here. He almost knocked her over.”

Demon calmed enough for guilt to emerge from the shadows in his head. Had he hurt Riley? He lifted his head and saw Bibi sitting on the floor. Fuck. Had he hurt her? And Faith? Oh, fuck.

As he calmed, hands left him. He rose onto his elbows and turned his eyes to Hoosier, who was on his hands and knees, leaning against the lower cupboards. “You knew. All this time, you both knew. You let them do it to her.” He looked up at Bart, who was still aiming a kill shot. “Just do it,” he said again, quietly now.

“Put it down, Bart,” Hoosier said again. Bart raised the barrel and dropped the Mossberg to his side. He stepped back, out of Demon’s range.

Demon heard Faith’s voice. “Tucker, no!” And then his son ran into the room.

He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, not far from Demon’s outstretched legs. “PA! Bad noise! Bad noise! No, Pa!” He shook his finger like a schoolmarm.

And now his son had seen how bad his father really was.

“Get him out of here.” Demon didn’t say it to anyone in particular, but it was Faith who scooped Tucker up. He squirmed in her arms, calling “Pa! Pa!” as she took him away.

It was over. Everything was over. Ash and shadow, all of it. He shrugged off J.R. and Trick, the last of his brothers holding him down, and he stood. Bart raised the shotgun again, but he ignored it and looked at Hoosier, who had stood and was taking Bibi from Connor, who’d apparently helped his mother to her feet.

“You knew. You let them do it, and you never said.”

Hoosier spat into the sink and wiped the blood from his mouth. His nose was swelling already. “It wasn’t my place to stop it, son. And what would I have told you? How could knowing have helped you at all?”

He didn’t know. He felt like there was nothing in the world that he did know, except that he had trusted and been betrayed.

Absolutely alone, Demon turned and walked out of the house.

He was just mounting his bike when Faith ran out of the house. “Michael, NO! Don’t run! Please don’t run! Please!”

He fired up and pulled away.

~oOo~

He’d vaguely meant to head into the desert, but he found himself coming up on the hospital instead. So, feeling numb from his vibrating nerves, he went up to check on Muse.

Keanu was sitting in the waiting room at the end of the hall. He stood when Demon came up, but Demon waved him off and went down the hall.

Muse was talking with Sid, almost sitting up. He looked pretty good for a guy who’d been gutshot less than twelve hours earlier. Sid saw Demon first and smiled. “Hey, Deme.” She stood up, and he gave her a hug.

“Hey, Sid. You okay?” He felt like he was on Novocain or something. Or out of sync with time. Detached.