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On a Dark Horse	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Jericho Views: 1536 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Jericho is wholly owned by CBS and those affiliated with & responsible for the production and creation of the show. I make no profit from the use of said fandom, except warm-fuzzies from reviews.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Timestamp: Bombs + 3 (still)
Warnings: Okay, now all those warnings start to kick in. It's been tame so far, but it's going to get brutal...and this is part of the slide into the darker side of human nature. The two warning I didn't see on the list dealt with Memories of Abuse and NonCon. Consider those added as of this chapter, to reappear occasionally.
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Jonah sighed and stretched. He'd finished planning with Johnston. Various people were preparing the kits for the men who were going. Turned out Shep Cale volunteered to head for Denver, see what could be seen. Gray, the self-righteous, pompous ass, was heading for Topeka. Jonah's men liked the short convoy idea and were prepping their ammo and driving shifts. Jonah and Stevie were staying to man the radio at the transport office. Johnston wanted them to take some smaller units for reports back to the sheriff's station, but the CB was much more reliable over distance. Especially since these were the illegally tweaked and thus stronger units.
In about ten minutes, he was going to go looking for Aylah if the girl didn't show up soon-What the hell?
Shouting and the sounds of a fight were coming through his office door. He half-jogged to the door to see what was going on. As soon as he saw the smaller combatant grab for the most convenient tool, a claw hammer, he ran out of the door and sprinted to them.
His arms went around Aylah just as she was about to put the claw end of the hammer through Mitchell Cafferty's temple. Jonah's man was already swaying on his feet, bruises coming on his jaw and forehead.
"Easy, girl," he barked, then soothed, "easy. No one needs to die tonight." She was struggling and he had to tighten his grip and lift her, turning her physically away from the object of her rage. He walked her toward the door to his office and living quarters. "What happened." It was not a question.
"He touched me," she growled, her voice still choked with emotion. Jonah heard more than rage. "No one touches me!"
"And you made your point clear. No!" he snapped, jerking her up off the ground again as she nearly got loose. "No. Go inside. Wait for me. I'll take care of it from here." She showed no sign of listening. "Aylah," he warned, "do not make me knock you out." After that warning, she stopped struggling to get loose, but her breathing stayed too fast. "If I let you go, you'll go inside, right?" This time, his voice was soft, almost a whisper in her ear. For her only. He was leaning down, lips brushing her ear. She nodded. "Good girl. Now," he moved his arms from around her and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, feeling her tense again as he did, and said, "Inside. Wait for me."
Aylah didn't argue. She'd nearly killed a man for touching her. One of Jonah's men. Her rage had come back with that touch. Now he'd have to explain to them that she was off-limits, maybe that she was his woman. And that would change things between them. She'd come so close to losing control-and she hated that. She walked into Jonah's office, then out the other door and down the hall to his apartment. When the door shut behind her, she walked to his bathroom and began stripping. Maybe a shower would help.
Jonah told Stevie to get some ice, which he did, and then found out exactly what had happened from his men. Noah, the oldest of them, gave a quick and concise report.
"Girl came in, askin' to see you. Mitch here talked to her, then, after saying you were in your office, patted her on the ass as she walked by. Never saw anything happen that fast. One second, she was walking to the office, next, she had her hand buried in Mitch's gut and he was bug-eyed with surprise. She hit hard-Mitch's prob'ly got some bruises from that. Then she hit him again. He swatted at her, but she pulled something out of her pocket and punched him in the ribs. Then she smacked him between the eyes with her fist-"
"Brass knuckles," Leon, the one with long, dark hair said suddenly. "Girl carries brass knuckles in her pocket."
"-and then he's reelin' back and she's grabbin' at the hammer and movin' for the kill. Never seen nothin' like it, Jonah. Hellcat, that one is. Pure she-devil." Noah's eyes were wide. That much violence packed into that nicely built little package? He'd never have believed it.
"Damn." Jonah motioned to Leon and D'Shea. "Get him to the med center in town. Don't bother explaining anything, just make it clear you're coming from here. For the rest of you-she's off limits. Completely. Don't touch her, don't sneak up behind her, and if you want to live, don't ever corner her."
"You touched her," this from Leon, who found Aylah more than a bit interesting. He liked wild women.
"She's mine." Two words and a world of warning. He hoped that would be enough.
Leon laughed. "She know that, Boss?" The rest of the men chuckled, thinking of Aylah's violence and Jonah's temper. Some of them started betting how long it would take before she kneed Jonah or worse, and they weren't whispering.
"You wanna ask her yourself? You wanna see how she reacts to a surprise in the shower? Be my guest." Jonah paused. "Where do you want to be buried, Leon?"
The chuckles died. And Jonah unbent enough to explain a few things-a cardinal sin in his odd world of shades of black.
"She was abused, badly abused, as a kid. Nearly died on the side of the road. I picked her up, took her to the hospital." The men nodded. They knew the code, since each of them had done time. None of them had gone after a woman or a kid-they were real criminals, not cowards. "She found me when I went through town again," a gloss, but accurate enough for them. "Said she wanted some company." The knowing smirk seemed so right, so he added that in. "Would you have walked away?"
The guys were quiet for a moment, the sound of a car engine revving the only thing that broke the silence. Stevie drove around the corner. "Get Mitchell to the doctor. If he's well enough, he can go tomorrow. It'd be safer for him than crossing Aylah again anytime soon."
"You can't control your woman?" D'Shea asked, incredulous.
"It's Mitch. Hell, how many of you have thought about killing him this year?" Nods around the circle meant he had their attention. Now to seal the deal. "And he doesn't go around patting any of you on the ass, does he?"
"Hell, he tries it and I'll break his neck," Noah snorted. "Boss?"
"Yeah, Noah?"
"What's she good for, other than the obvious?"
"One of the best damned mechanics I've ever met-can probably run the machine tools better than you, Noah." With that, Jonah watched them load Mitch into the car. Noah went with Stevie and Mitch to town, which was good. It'd been so long since Noah had been welcome in any town that he wouldn't let Mitch's hot head or Stevie's general stupidity get them kicked out.
Now, for his real problem.
Aylah wrapped the towel around her and stepped out of the shower, expecting company. She was right. Jonah leaning against his dresser, waiting for her to finish her shower.
"'Bout time," he said, watching her smooth her hair away from her face. She had long, beautiful hair, down to her hips. Most people thought she was old fashioned or showing off, but Jonah knew the real reason.
"They think I'm your woman now, don't they?" she asked, knowing how these men thought. She hated it, but there it was. She'd caused it, now she'd have to pay the price.
"Is that a problem for you?" He implied it was no big deal to him, but she knew better. Even though they'd been together before, they were never lovers, not in the way people thought of lovers.
She lowered her head and closed her eyes. "No," she whispered, "I just hate it."
"Knocking the hell out of Mitchell would've been enough. Trying to kill him?" Damn, Jonah hurt. Containing her rages had never been easy, but the last time she'd done something like this was over ten years ago. Ten years could make a difference in too many ways, and Jonah was more than willing to hate that fact.
"I hate him!" she hissed, her head snapping up and her eyes filling with fire. "I knew him before I left-and I hated him then, too! If he crosses me, Jonah…"
"You do whatever you have to do." This was a rant he didn't want to hear. "Meanwhile, the boys'll be listening for certain things tonight. Think you're up to it?" He wasn't asking for sex, or demanding it. In fact, he was too damned tired.
Humour gleamed in Aylah's eyes as she walked to Jonah's bed, her rage forgotten as she saw the lack of desire on his face. As she sat down on the side, it creaked. Her glance at him was accompanied by a wicked grin. "How good do you want to be, Big J?" she purred at him.
He simply raised an eyebrow and waited, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She didn't disappoint. Within seconds she was rocking back and forth, then lifting up onto her feet and bouncing on the bed. Not long after that, she added a few loud moans and a short scream.
Jonah was choking on his laughter, and when she screamed, crossing her eyes at him in mock ecstasy, he couldn't help the shout of laughter that escaped him. Aylah bounced heavily for another two or thee seconds and then smirked up at Jonah, who was doing his best to remain upright after her performance.
"Was it good for you?" she simpered.
Jonah shook his head and crossed over to sit next to her on his bed. "You do realize that they're listening, don't you?"
Aylah shrugged. "So long as they don't try, I'll be fine." She stood and turned the bed down, the towel now too damp for comfort.
Jonah moved and headed for the shower. The hot water would feel wonderful.
"Of course, I'll sleep in here, until we have an argument," she added as he walked toward his private bathroom.
"You'll sleep in here every night." He looked back at her over his shoulder. "Only so far, Aylah, no farther."
Aylah hesitated. "Get your shower, Jonah. I'll get in bed while you do."
"Aylah." His voice was even less tolerant of her desire to dodge the necessity of staying with him for an extended time.
"Fine, Jonah. Every night. Now would you please…" She turned away from him, her voice choking to a weak thread. He'd seen it all, heard it all, watched her as she nearly went insane, brought her back from the edge-and she still didn't want him to see her cry.
Soft footsteps padded closer to her. "Hey," he murmured in her ear, lifting one hand to turn her toward him, the other to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "No secrets, Aylah. Only truth. I don't want you hurt, and I don't want to have to kill one of them for doing something stupid."
"I know, Jonah. It's just…" He waited as she stepped into him. She was getting grease on his good towel, but he didn't say anything, just wrapped his arms around her and held her. "If I stay in here every night, and we don't…they'll figure it out. And you know that I don't like to…to…"
"I know." He pulled her head onto his shoulder and stroked her soaking wet hair. "How long?"
"I don't-" She tried to dodge, not wanting to say it.
"How long?" More insistent.
"Nine years." Her voice broke on the last word and she finally let loose the sobs she'd been fighting.
"That's far too long, sweetheart. Why?" Damn. He hoped she wasn't going brittle on him. She was strong, but her strength came from her ability to face her fears. If she'd been hiding from this, if anything went bad, would she break? He'd worked too long and too hard with her to let that happen.
"No one wants a woman that looks like I do. And if they do, it's not for anything good. I can't stand the one-nights that I pulled for so long and you…we…" Her words were broken, then confused because she never could figure out what, exactly, her relationship with Jonah was. She wasn't one of his boys. She wasn't his daughter or replacement daughter, his lover, his wife, his woman, his burden, or his friend. They were something strange that defied description, but it was real and binding and she cared so much about him. But it wasn't love. Or romance.
"Don't love each other." He whispered, finishing her thought. "I know." He cared for her, admired her, but she wasn't Sylvia. She was so much more-and less. Whatever she was, he was able with her, but he didn't love her.
"I don't think I can love. Not like that." She lifted her head and looked Jonah in the eyes. "I don't want to. It means giving up too much control." She had already regained control over her crying fit, even if her face was blotchy and her eyes wanted to overflow.
Jonah said nothing to that. He saw that the tears were over for now. Instead of brushing them from her cheeks again, or telling her to go put cold water on her face, he reached down and tugged the towel from her.
Aylah stood still, her arms at her sides as Jonah stepped back to see her. His eyes slid down her body, then back up. The look wasn't fast or slow, but she knew he marked every change in her since the last time he saw her like this. She shivered from the cool air on her damp skin.
"Turn." That was all he said. He didn't have to say more. She turned her back to him, and stepped to the wall. She placed her hands on the wall and slid her feet apart. Waited. He moved her hair, still heavy with water after it had been towelled off, over one shoulder and stepped back again.
"They're almost gone," he said, looking at what was left of the heavy scarring on her back. The welts were invisible now, would only be seen if she decided to get a tan. The thicker, ropy scars were smaller and had faded to a shade lighter than her own skin. Scars continued down her back, over her buttocks, down her legs to the calf. "Do you still stretch out?"
"Every day, or my legs won't move right." She didn't stop to think how most people would see this scene. They would be upset or humiliated. This was just Jonah, checking on her. She felt his fingers tracing, the pressing on one of the scars that gave her the most trouble on her back. "Mm. Feels good." It did. There was always a string of knots along that line, and Jonah had magic hands.
"Later," he said absently. "Aylah…I have to check."
This time, Aylah did feel heat flooding her. Embarrassment and shame swept through her like a tornado. "No…not this time."
But Jonah ignored her and slid his hand between her thighs. He carefully felt the inside of her thighs, right and left. "Good," he said, the quick check over. "No new scars."
"Jonah I told you-I quit doing that after you found out and freaked out on me." Her voice was weak, small.
"I did not freak out," he insisted. "There was no damn reason for you to go cutting yourself and adding more scars to the ones he gave you. You're too beautiful for that."
Aylah turned to face him, propping her bare back against the cold concrete wall. "Me? Beautiful?" Her laugh was bitter. "Don't lie to me, Jonah. We never have lied to each other, so don't start now."
"You know me. Strength, will-those are beautiful. And I have never met a more stubborn, willful, strong woman in my life. These scars-they're the proof that you've survived a hell most people couldn't even dream existed. And you came out whole." A long road was ahead of them if he had to keep reminding her of this. Could he do it again?
"Not undamaged, though." A soft whisper, and her head drooped lower between her shoulders.
"No, not undamaged," he agreed. "But beautiful." Jonah cupped her face in his hands, lifting her chin, and kissed her lips carefully. When he drew back, she was smiling up at him. It wasn't much of a smile, but the corners of her lips were turned up a tiny bit. That counted, didn't it?
"You could talk a copperhead out of striking, Big J." Her voice was stronger now, but still a shadow of her usual tones.
"Only if he gave me enough time," Jonah agreed, smiling back at her.
"Go get your shower. You've more than earned it today. I'll be in bed." She continued smiling at him as he turned and walked to the shower. He'd feel better after his shower; he always did. And if they were going to convince his men that she really was his woman, she'd have to let him make her his woman, otherwise they'd notice that her hips never swayed and her stride never loosened like most women's did after a good night with their man. She slid into the bed, away from the door or Jonah would complain, and considered would have to happen.
And for all she cared about him, she hated sex. Hated having to relearn how to lose control of herself. Hated the full of calloused hands on her scarred skin, of lips wet and open on hers.
But this was Jonah, and it wasn't so bad with him. Maybe they could make it work out well enough that the men didn't question it. But that would take time, and until that day came…it would cost her. Worse, it would cost Jonah, because he really didn't feel that way about her, either. She decided she wouldn't wait for him to try to break the news to her gently. She'd start it.
Was it wrong to hope he'd finish too quick?
Jonah turned his face into the water, letting the warmth wash over him. Damn, but he hurt. No matter how much he hated to admit it, Aylah had been right. He was slowing down. Ten years ago, holding her back wasn't such a big deal. Hell, seventeen years ago, he'd been handing her the hammer. But that was a different circumstance.
Now she was here. On his property. In his bed. And she'd be here for the foreseeable future. That meant the men had to think she was his, and they mostly did. That'd keep most of them from thinking of challenging him anytime soon. They'd have to take her, too, and she was downright vicious. He knew what she was capable of-he'd seen things equal to it in Vietnam-but he knew the men who followed him couldn't hold her. She'd take over, and without someone to check some of her less gentle notions, well, that could go very badly.
And what was this-nine years? He'd told her repeatedly not to go more than six months without a man. He sighed and reached for the soap. They'd kept to phone calls over the last several years, but before that, he saw her regularly. They'd have dinner together or just a cup of coffee. Maybe he should've been there more for her, but Sylvia had let him back into her life and her bed about that time and…Sylvie.
His wife was gone now. So was Chris. Emily was here, but didn't want to admit he was her father. The only person that gave a damn about him anymore was out there, dreading the moment he told her that they had to create the fiction of being together so well that no one could deny it-and that meant enduring what she hated. And he didn't want to, either, but without the sexual component to back up the information he'd been required to give them, he wouldn't keep control of them. And then she'd have no one to keep her grounded. Maybe Johnston could handle it, given 23 hours a day to deal with her, and that wasn't going to happen. Jake? Jake was too wounded right now. It was in his eyes, and anyone who knew the boy well could see it. Oh, he'd gotten tougher. Changed. Learned regret. But he still wasn't what Aylah needed-someone as tough or tougher than she was.
He could make her enjoy the sex. He knew that as well as she did. She'd turned to him years ago, scared-hell, terrified-and brave and determined. It had still taken over a year before she could manage to let him into her bed, the first man she'd ever wanted to touch her. The first man to touch her intimately that she hadn't feared or been hurt by. The look in her eyes when she realized she'd managed to go to bed with him without panicking and she had actually trusted him enough to let go and enjoy it had been priceless. He'd never seen that dazed look in those grey eyes again, and he'd tried his best to put it there.
She'd been abused every way there was when he'd found her, more than half dead on the side of the road. He'd broken every traffic law known to man getting her to the ICU in Rogue River. She'd been barely thirteen then. He'd broken more serious laws when he went and beat the ever-living daylight out of her weasel of a stepfather. She didn't know about that part. He'd never told her. Then again, she'd never asked, either.
Then, when she was sixteen and so filled with rage that she was fighting everything and everyone, he'd finished all ties to decency by kidnapping the bastard and bringing him to her, bound and gagged. He'd watched as she spent her rage on the one who deserved it. Handed her the hammer, the blowtorch. The knife. Held her after she'd finally killed him, when she'd been driving the knife into the corpse over and over. If he hadn't stopped her, pinning her arms like he had today, she'd've kept on until she couldn't lift her arms. It was only then that she realized everything she'd done. She raged and cried on his shoulder, sometimes beating his chest and shoulders with her fists, covered in blood and screaming out what was left of her pain, severing her own ties to humanity.
As far as everyone was concerned, her stepfather had simply disappeared. Her mother had moved to Denver the year before, no reason given. There'd been an investigation, of course, but the body would never be found. Jonah seen to that. Aylah's stepfather had had enough ties to dirty judges and corrupt state officials that he'd never have been subject to real justice-that as much as anything had been gnawing on Aylah. She'd been cutting herself, hidden slices on her thighs, but he always checked the scars for her. She always asked him to, begged him to be honest-and he'd seen a cut. When she'd raged and screamed her reasons to him, then picked up a ceramic mug and shattered it, bringing a jagged edge to her leg and pressing, he realized how far down the path she'd gone. Suicide was one of her options, and she admitted it. To save her, he'd given her the kind of rough justice she said she needed. Then, he'd had to pull her back from the edge.
She'd started healing then. She'd been so determined to be ordinary after torturing a man do death. No, not a man. A monster.
Why wouldn't she believe she was extraordinary? Even now, she'd deny it, turn away. She'd survived years of abuse, including various forms of sexual abuse from the time she was ten, and managed to come out of it and still care for someone, something. But not herself.
Then she'd turned to him, covered in her stepfather's blood, tear tracks on her face. When she'd calmed down, she asked him to teach her not to fear. What else could he do? He'd been teaching her to stand up for herself, to fight. He'd already shown her she could kill. It was during these years that he'd been running with some of the worst. He knew what could happen, and he wanted to teach her to survive it. Sylvie had made it impossible for him to teach Emily or Chris. Shortly after this, Jake had crossed his path, bringing Emily with him. He'd seen potential in Jake, the future of his gang, but he couldn't teach Emily more than the basics. She didn't need to know the darkness to survive. Aylah did. It was Aylah who'd gotten his spare time. Maybe that was his biggest mistake with Emily-not telling her why he'd been gone so much. Well, that and Chris, but Chris's death was his fault, and he knew Emily was right to blame him for it.
But Aylah-he'd done right there. She'd turned to him, trusted him completely. And still, it had taken a year of patience and gentle touches, slow progress before she'd finally been able to be with him. She'd been seventeen then, and he was old enough to be her father. After everything, she'd trusted him enough to choose him. Hell, he hadn't trusted himself most days back then, but she'd do anything for him, just because he asked her to. He should feel guilty, but all he could feel, then as now, was honored. It was a strange feeling for him. Felt good, though. He didn't want to lose that.
Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to regret Aylah.
Did she regret him? It was a disturbing question, and one he would have to get an answer to. But not tonight. The answer might just be too much for tonight. Jonah Prowse was a survivor, even after the attacks, but the way to survive wasn't to push this mood any further. He didn't dare.
Instead, he turned off the water and pulled his towel from the bar by the wall. After drying off, he decided there was no point in pulling on boxers or a t-shirt. She hated the feeling of clothes against her skin as she slept, something they'd had in common, but for different reasons. He didn't like the constriction. She didn't like the memory of pulling cloth from where it had dried into open, seeping wounds during the night.
Jonah walked over to the bed and slid under the covers on the side of the bed next to the door. He always took the side with the door. Always. Now all he had to do was figure out how to tell her he needed her tonight.
It would be easier to tell Johnston he was sorry for all the trouble he'd caused.
Aylah smiled to herself as she felt the bed dip with Jonah's weight. She turned over and snuggled into him, wrapping her arms around him. Once she'd made her decision, the rest was easy. Well, easier. This would never be easy, even if it became ordinary.
"What's this?" he asked, surprised.
Aylah lifted up over him, smiling. "It occurred to me that I don't walk right, not for what we faked earlier. Only one way to fix that, Big J, if you want?"
A question. Always a question. She never demanded this from him-or anyone. He'd watched her one night at a bar in Rogue River, when she did work the bars. She simply offered, they accepted or refused-mostly accepted. He smiled into the darkness. He did, too. "Here I was trying to figure out how to tell you that. When'd you get so smart?"
"Mm…when you weren't looking?" she teased.
"Next question: When'd you get to be such a smart-ass?" This accompanied a long caress down her sides, pulling her closer.
"Mm…when you were?" A whisper, still light, but husky with emotions neither one wanted to consider. Then she laughed. "I'm seducing you again, Jonah." Was this seduction? Did it matter? The outcome was the same.
Jonah laughed with her and pulled her close before he rolled her onto her back. "I'm willing to be seduced," he murmured into her ear as he felt her force herself to relax under his weight. "Are you?" Her reply was lost in a gasp as his hands and lips found places that had been ignored for far too long.
For the first time in a long, long time, Aylah arched into a man's touch, trusting him completely with herself.
She could never regret Jonah, even if her logic told her she should. Her heart and soul refused.
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On a Dark Horse