Whichever of you is fucking her this week…Clay's words rang in Chibs' head as the Sons filed out of Church. That's me, innit? he thought, briefly recalling himself poised above V.'s naked and shaking body the night before. His brief glow of satisfaction was cut short by his next thought. But it's Tig, too. And probably Jax. He was mystified at the idea—never in a million years had he thought he'd be unwillingly sharing a woman with not one, but two of his brothers. Especially Tig. The idea was infuriating, frustrating, nauseating.
Before Chibs could get too deep in his own thoughts, Bobby's voice snapped him out of it. "So what happened to her face?" The Sons had all left the table and congregated around the bar, opening beers. He was clearly talking about V. "She got action we ain't in on?"
Opie looked perplexed. "You think V.'s got fights we don't know about?"
Juice nodded slowly. "She could. There's other fights around."
Chibs swallowed. He'd been surprised to see V. had made no attempt to cover the bruises on her face from the night before.
"Goddamn," Clay said. "You think that bitch is holdin' out? We take her in here and she's holdin' out?" Already on edge due to the proximity of Stahl, his temper was clearly rising.
"Dunno," Bobby said. "But she clearly ran into somebody's fist between yesterday and today."
Fuck, Chibs thought. This is not gonna go well. "I did it." He spoke quickly and quietly, as if trying not to be heard.
"You did what?" Bobby looked confused.
"V.'s face. Last night. That was me. She doesn't have any side action." He could feel all the eyes in the room on him. Jax was advancing on him in seconds.
"You hit V.?" His voice was terse, already angry and looking for a reason not to hold back. His heart had begun to beat erratically. The idea that Chibs had hit V. bothered him more than the prospect he was sleeping with her.
Before Chibs could respond, Tig had grabbed Jax's arm. "Easy man," he said. He gazed levelly at Chibs, understanding in his cold eyes. The look enraged Chibs. What are we, fucking commiserating? Some kind of I-love-to-hit-women club?
Jax pulled his arm away from Tig, his eyes blazing and locked on Chibs. "Why would you do that?" he yelled. He knew, if he stopped and thought it though, that there was a time, not long ago, when he'd left bruises on V. himself. This was different, though. His recent image of her was not of the woman he'd tied to the bed, but as the one who cried in his arms—a much more fragile creature. There was no justification for leaving bruises on her face.
Chibs fought to retain his composure. He was so fed up with all of it-with Jax's assumption that he had some kind of calling to be V.'s protector, with Tig's disgusting conspiratorial sneer, with V. herself, coming in here wearing bruises, probably knowing he'd end up having to explain them—if he let himself lose his temper, he felt like he'd never have it in check again. Jax was right up in his face now, though. Chibs balled up his fists. If this was going to be their big fight, so be it.
Before any punches could be thrown, Clay was standing between them, red-faced with anger. "I have had enough of this shit," he yelled. "You," he jerked his thumb at Jax, "back the fuck off." Then he nodded towards Chibs. "You I need out of town. Make a run to Jury's. Check on our guns."
Chibs knew it was a bullshit errand, just a way for Clay to keep him separated from Jax for a couple of days. He also knew it wouldn't do him any good to argue. He nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and stomped out of the Clubhouse.
As he returned to his bar stool, Clay shook his head. "Never shoulda let that bitch in the fuckin' door," he said.
-0-
Jax found V. in the first place he looked. She was in outside ring, barefoot and bare-knuckled, alternating punches and kicks on the heavy bag. She didn't acknowledge him. He watched her face for a few moments, frowning as his eyes ran over the bruises. He felt as angry with her as he had with Chibs. Remembering her urging him to fuck her hard, smiling when he pushed her face into the side of shower, he doubted seriously that her bruised face had been anything short of consensual. His stomach twisted.
Moving towards V., Jax grabbed her hand and put himself between her and the bag. She stopped, looking at his with irritation. "What?"
"Your face." He reached his hand up and stroked her cheek gently. "You OK?"
V. gave him a withering look. "Yes. Fine."
"Chibs did this?"
V. raised her eyebrow. How the fuck would Jax know that? Christ, was Chibs bragging about it? "Yeah. So?"
Jax took a breath. He hadn't expected V. to so readily admit it. Before he could say anything, she continued. "It's none of your business, Jax. Don't worry about it."
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Jax exploded. "That's what you want? A man who beats you? Are you that fucking damaged?" He was angry enough not to notice that he himself was now gripping her arm to hard it would leave marks. "All that bitching about me trying to control you, and what you really wanted was to be smacked around?"
V. smiled, pulling her arm from Jax's grasp. "Somethin' like that," she muttered, attempting to turn away from him. This was a conversation she had no intention of having.
He grabbed her again, pulling her back around close to face him. "No," he said, his voice still angry. "You're gonna fuckin' explain this to me. You know I would never hit you. You know I want to help you, to protect you. You know I fucking love you. Why would you choose this instead?"
The words fell heavy between them. Neither Jax nor Chibs had ever before suggested that V. should make a choice between them, much less that she already had. "I haven't chosen anything," she said, meeting Jax's eyes and making her meaning clear, "except to do whatever the fuck I want to do. As always, if you have a problem with that, it's your issue, not mine."
At that, Jax turned away. This had rapidly become another variation of their same old argument, and he knew better to continue it, especially in full view of anybody who walked out of the Clubhouse. He was still enraged, and he felt oddly naïve. Was this what V. had wanted from him all along? Were the bruises she was wearing—he couldn't help but think of them as Chibs' mark—a sign of how he'd failed?
As Jax walked away, V. turned back to the bag. Twice as angry as she'd been before, she resumed pummeling it. Her back ached—it was bruised far worse than her face—and she knew she should stop, but thought if she did she might end up taking her rage out on a less inanimate object. Fuck you Clay, she thought, driving in a right jab as she thought of him telling her to be a girl and get her nails done. And fuck you, Jax, as she swung a left hook and thought of his disgusted, pitying face. And fuck YOU, Chibs, as she kicked the bag with all her might, imagining how anxious he'd apparently been to let his brothers know he'd put bruises on her. I'm not your fucking prize.
V. was so involved in imagining the bag as everyone she was mad at that she didn't even notice Chibs, dressed to ride, coming up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her away from the bag. "Stop it," he said, his voice low in her ear. "You're gonna hurt yourself." Before she responded, she felt his lips on her neck, his hands against her stomach, her body pulled against his.
V. fought the urge to lean back into him, pulling herself away and turning to face him. "I'm fine," she said tersely.
"You gotta be sore," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't you come inside with me? I gotta go on a run for a couple of days. Come tell me goodbye." Even though his sunglasses covered his eyes, V. knew the teasing lecherousness was there. He pulled her towards him again, leaning down towards her ear to whisper, "I'll be gentle."
The rage that had momentarily subsided returned full force. "Fuck you," she hissed, pulling away again.
Chibs' brow wrinkled. "What the hell?" Things had seemed fine between them earlier. Unlike every other time they'd slept together, she hadn't immediately begun ignoring him the next day. "Is this about you being pulled off the fights? That's not my decision."
V. snorted. "Of course it's not. God forbid any of you disagree with the almighty Clay." She rolled her eyes. "So tell me, did you wait until after the meeting to brag about putting me in my place, or was it on the goddamn agenda?"
Behind the shades, Chibs' eyes widened with understanding. Jesus, he thought. I can't get a fuckin' break. The bastards couldn't have waited until I was on the highway to make sure V. knew they know who hit her? "It wasn't like that," he began, but she cut him off.
"I don't give a fuck what it was like," she responded. "You bastards are all the same. All about ways to prove your ownership. Well, I'm not your goddamn property."
At this, Chibs felt bile rise in his throat. As thought V. hadn't already made it perfectly clear that she wasn't his property. Her nerve was amazing. "You think I'd want my mark on you?" he hissed, grabbing her wrists and pushing her body against the bag. "You're a whore. You're like some greedy little girl who wants to play with all the toys, except your too goddamn old to pull it off. You're too psychotic to hold on to a good man, and the bad ones?" he smiled. "We just want to play with you. Nobody's talkin' about leavin' a mark." He sneered. "Don't give yourself so much credit, V. If it wasn't you, it would be somebody else. You're just another used up slut." He pushed his body harder against hers, his lips once again next to her ear. "And that's just how you want it. You want me to take you down right here on the cement." She could feel him hard against her stomach, feel herself respond. "You want it to hurt, and you want it to be dirty, and you want everybody to know just how filthy you are." He wrapped his arms hard around her neck, trapping her against him. "You're the one who wanted to be used," he said. "I'm just doin' what you asked."
Unable to stop herself, V. shuddered. His words were terrible, and she knew they'd echo in her head when she was next alone, but now they only served to heighten her arousal. He was right. She did want to be filthy, and she did want everyone to know. If she hadn't wanted the bruises to be questioned, she would have covered them up. Knowing that he knew that, that even now, his instinct for her worst urges was correct, made her heart beat faster. Hating herself for it, she parted her lips. "So use me," she said. She pressed herself against him even tighter, so he could feel the pressure of her breasts against the bruises her fists had left on his chest the previous night. She turned her eyes to his. "Or do you just love me too much?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
More even than when he'd first approached her, he wanted to drag her back to his room and make her scream. But the wanting was less important now than the lesson. He knew he'd made a mistake in confessing his love to her, and he had to do what he could to correct it. Gathering his rather meager reserve of self-control, he leaned forward as if to kiss her. "Nobody loves you," he whispered into her mouth, just loud enough for her to hear. "Nobody ever will." Then he pulled away, stomping towards his bike without looking back.
