“That’s true,” Declan says, running his hands along my bare arms.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with your brothers,” I say quickly, “I’ve never had more fun in my life than I do at the Forty-Five. But it just seems like the other women there...well, there seems to be a certain type of woman—”
“You’re not just another piece of ass for Dante’s Nine to pass around, if that’s what you’re asking,” Declan cuts me off.
“Well...what am I then?” I ask, “To you, I mean?”
I feel Declan swallow a sigh. “I’m not sure if I can give you a simple answer to that question, Kassie.”
“Could you try?” I ask, turning around to look at him.
“We’re having an amazing summer, aren’t we?” Declan says, his smile tight, “Why don’t we just leave it at that? Why complicate things?”
“Things are already complicated for me,” I tell him, “And I get the feeling that they are for you, too.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, tension creeping into his voice.
I pull myself away from him, to the other side of the couch. I didn’t mean to open up any cans of worms, here. We’ve been having such an amazing, sexy, carefree week. But this honeymoon phase isn’t going to last forever. I’m not OK with being kept in the dark.
“I’ve been honest with you about my past, Declan,” I begin, hugging my knees to my chest, “You know everything about me. Where I come from, what happened to my family, all my baggage—I haven’t left anything out. Doesn’t it seem a bit...unbalanced that I don’t know anything about you?”
Declan stares at me, long and hard. His expression is totally unreadable. I hold my breath, waiting for him to speak. Is he furious with me? Amenable? I just don’t know. After what feels like a decade, he finally wrenches his jaw open and speaks.
“What is it that you want to know?”
“Everything, for a start,” I tell him, my breath catching in my throat.
“Well. Let’s start with what you already know about me, then,” he says. Every word seems like a tremendous effort. “I’m not used to this sort of thing. But these are...special circumstances. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not very good at this...sharing thing.”
“We could both use some practice,” I allow.
“I just want you to know that I wouldn’t do this for anyone,” Declan tells me, “In my life, I’ve never met a woman who would ask for honesty like this. Certainly no one I’d be willing to be honest with.”
“I understand,” I reply, resting my chin on my knees, “I’ve never been honest with any man in my life, either. But you’re worth the risk, Tiberi.”
“Back at you, Bennett,” he says, the smallest smile gracing his full lips, “Why don’t you start me off, here? What is it you want to know about?”
“It’s tough to pick just one thing,” I laugh lightly, “But if you don’t mind...I’d love you to start by explaining the weapons locker in your apartment.”
A stifled groan slips past Declan’s lips. “Fuck, I left that unlocked? You weren’t supposed to find that,” he says.
“So I gathered,” I reply, “But here we are. Why does a businessman, athlete and motorcycle...enthusiast need so many guns?”
“That’s a very big question,” Declan sighs, planting his feet firmly on the ground, “But the simple answer is, I didn’t start out my adulthood as any of those things. Before I was a venture capitalist, or a boxer, or a member of Dante’s Nine...I was a soldier.”
“Right,” I say, “You were in the military.”
“Yeah,” he answers ruefully, “But my life as a warrior started long before I enlisted.”
“Tell me about it,” I say softly, reaching for his hand. He lets me lace my fingers with his as he draws in a deep breath.
“All right,” he says finally, “The truth, then. I’ve been fighting for my entire life, Kassie. The earliest memories I have are of me, facing off against my old man. He was a drunk, and a mean one. Until I started elementary school, I just assumed that all dads hit their wives and kids. I let him get away with his shit until I was old enough to realize that my anger towards him, my resentment...it was justified.”
“I’m so sorry, Dec,” I say, rubbing my thumb against his hand, “No kid should have to go through that.”
“Most parents fuck up their kids one way or another,” he shrugs, “My dad was just upfront about it. Some kids don’t realize until they’re grown the damage their parents have done along the way.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter.
“Sorry Kass,” he says, “I know you had a shit time as a kid, too.”
“We’re not talking about me right now,” I remind him.
“Right,” he replies, “It’s the Declan Tiberi’s Fucked Up Childhood Hour. Anyhow, my mom wasn’t much help. Self-medicated her way through the marriage, left me to fend for myself. Around the time I was fifteen or so, I started getting wise to the fact that my dad wasn’t anything but a broken down, weak-willed asshole. That was also around the time I shot up like a damned weed. All of a sudden, I was six feet tall, strong as a bull. Dad couldn’t knock me around so easy anymore. And he hated me for that. One night when I was sixteen, he tried to take me on one last time. I kicked the shit out of him. Could have killed him if my mom hadn’t snapped out of it and pulled me off him. He kicked me out of the house, told me never to come home. That night was the last time I saw either of them.”
“But you were just a kid,” I say, squeezing his hand, “Where did you go?”
“Well, luckily for me, I’d been making some friends around town that understood my predicament. I grew up in San Bernardino. And in my neighborhood, kids like me tended to get snatched up pretty quickly by one gang or another. I was sixteen, homeless, and built like a brick wall. I was a pretty natural recruit. And I wasn’t complaining, neither. I felt like I had friends, for the first time in my life. Family. I’d keep an eye on the MC’s in town, just praying to be taken in. And I got my wish. Just after my seventeenth birthday, I became a prospect for a local chapter.”
“Prospect?” I ask.